An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  A sly and clever woman, the Vicar’s wife. Ethan could hardly object to a sermon directed at the village’s round-heeled wenches. Not without raising suspicions in the Vicar’s mind. But it was a fine line his wife was walking. A very fine line indeed and Ethan would not hesitate to make good on his threat if one shred of gossip impinged upon Petra’s reputation.

  Unfortunately, since she had not accepted his offer of marriage, he was honour-bound to end their idyll. And since that was the case, he no longer had an excuse to put off going to town to take his place in the House of Lords. It was also time to meet his prospective bride before making a commitment.

  ‘There is another matter I wish to raise with you, my lord,’ the Vicar said.

  Ethan eyed him warily. ‘And that is?’

  Beckridge glanced at the departing congregation. ‘If you would care to honour me by taking a cup of tea in my study, my lord, we could discuss the matter in private.’

  The hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck rose. He narrowed his eyes on the Vicar’s face, but he saw no guile, nothing untoward. Damn it all. It looked as if this was a discussion he could not avoid.

  It would be as well to discover what the man had on his mind and, since the Vicar’s abode was beside the church, it should not take long to dispense with the matter.

  Once they were seated in the small study each with a cup of tea and the maid had closed the door behind her, the Vicar leaned forward in his chair. ‘It is about these gypsies.’

  Gypsies. Ethan felt the stiffness leave his body. The result of a protective urge that seemed to overtake him in regard to Petra, when he knew that lady could take care of herself. ‘What about them?’

  ‘The last time my wife raised this matter, you indicated you knew of no wrongdoing on their part which would make you require them to move on.’

  This was likely the reason for the woman coming to his house in the first place. And no doubt now she thought she had the means of getting what she wanted by making Petra’s life uncomfortable. Yes, Mrs Beckridge was indeed a clever woman, but he was not one to be held to ransom. He’d learned a great deal about strategies for dealing with enemies in the army. He was known for it. ‘And you have some knowledge of their wrongdoing you would like to impart?’

  ‘No direct evidence, my lord.’ He shook his head. ‘But two reports of stolen laundry in the past week lead me to think they are up to their usual tricks.’

  ‘Have these thefts been reported to the constable or the magistrate?’

  ‘I am not aware that they have.’

  ‘Then they ought to be.’

  The Vicar waved a hand in dismissal. ‘The villagers do not like to bother such people with trivial matters, my lord. Indeed, it is unlikely that either of those persons would lower themselves to investigate the theft of a couple of handkerchiefs and a chemise, not when the matter can be easily resolved by moving the gypsies along.’

  ‘And if it is not the gypsies, laundry will continue to disappear and I shall have lost useful labour.’

  The Vicar goggled. ‘You continue to employ them, my lord?’

  ‘I do. They are currently harvesting the deadfall in Crabb’s Wood.’ He’d arranged it when he realised he wouldn’t have time to finish the work before he removed to London for the opening of Parliament.

  ‘How do you know they will not steal the wood from you?’

  ‘If I am not concerned, I do not see why you should be, sir.’

  Looking very unhappy, the Vicar drew out a kerchief and blew his nose loudly. ‘I see.’ He was no doubt wondering how to break the news of his lack of success to his wife.

  Ethan took pity on him. ‘When that task is done, they intend to move on to their winter quarters in the south country.’

  The Vicar beamed. ‘Soon?’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Very soon.’

  The Vicar reached down and opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small bottle. ‘A drop of brandy to liven up your tea, my lord?’

  The man was a tippler. No wonder with a wife like his. Ethan accepted a splash of brandy in his tea and sipped appreciatively. ‘Are there any other matters we need to discuss, Beckridge?’

  ‘Nothing at all, my lord.’

  Ethan was very glad to hear it.

  * * *

  When Red had learned of his sisters’ intention to visit London, he’d sent his carriage for them. To their surprise, he was waiting for them on the doorstep of the family town house in Grosvenor Square, looking as pleased to see them as they were to see him.

  Red rarely left Gloucestershire. Their visit to town seemed hardly likely to draw him forth, but they accepted that it had with gladness.

  He kissed them both on the cheek and escorted them indoors. By the time they had gone up and removed their outer raiments and directed the staff with regard to their belongings, the tea tray was awaiting them in the drawing room.

  At first, Petra had been so pleased to see her brother, she had noticed nothing amiss. However, now she had a chance to observe him more closely sitting beside Marguerite on the opposite sofa, the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed deeper than they had been a year ago.

  Yet, despite his drawn looks, he was beaming at them as if he was genuinely pleased to see them, so she refrained from commenting on his appearance.

  ‘I knew you would tire of the country eventually,’ he said to Marguerite.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Marguerite said. ‘We simply need to refresh our wardrobes, that is all.’

  Red nudged her with an elbow. ‘Who needs a fashionable wardrobe stuck out in the middle of nowhere? Unless some country squire has sparked your interest.’ He waggled his brows.

  Petra’s cheeks heated. Not that she’d ever felt any need to alter her dress for Ethan. He had never seemed to notice what she was wearing. Indeed, he seemed to prefer her wearing nothing at all. Her whole body went hot.

  Marguerite also coloured.

  Petra frowned. Had her sister met someone and not seen fit to mention it? More likely she was embarrassed because she did not intend to tell Red her real reason for coming to town. No doubt she was worried that he might see her being paid as an artist as something less than desirable.

  ‘We still go to church every week, Westram,’ Marguerite said reprovingly. ‘You would not have us attend with worn hems and flounces turned more than once, I assume?’

  His face fell. ‘Certainly not.’ He drew in a breath. ‘I should tell you, however, that the moment I heard you were coming, I accepted several invitations on your behalf. Thought you might like to get about a bit.’

  Marguerite glared at him. ‘Now, why would you do that without asking us?’

  ‘Because people would think the worst of me if you visited London and were not seen in polite company. That is why.’

  ‘Think the worst of you? What nonsense. What on earth would give you such a notion?’ Marguerite said. ‘Besides, no one would be any the wiser about our presence here, unless you told them. Really, Red, could you not have consulted me first?’

  He stiffened. ‘Actually, it was Miss Featherstone who said it would look most odd if it appeared you had gone into hiding from the public eye.’

  ‘Miss Featherstone,’ Petra echoed. ‘What business is it of—’

  His face darkened.

  ‘Red!’ Marguerite’s voice rose in volume. ‘You have finally offered for her.’

  He gave a shamefaced grin. ‘I did.’

  A flicker of emotion crossed Marguerite’s face. Worry? Then she smiled. ‘Congratulations, my dear. I wish you both very happy.’

  ‘Oh, Red, if it is indeed what you want, I am so pleased for you, too,’ Petra said.

  Petra and Marguerite had never understood his devotion to the lady in question. She was so high in the instep as to be insufferably rude to everyone she met. But the match had been arranged between
their parents years ago, before they were born, and he had never looked at another woman. Not a respectable woman anyway.

  ‘Have your finances finally come about?’ Marguerite asked.

  He grimaced. ‘With my prospective father-in-law’s help. In addition to advancing funds for improvements to the estate, he has made a great many...er...helpful suggestions with regards to its management over the past year. Within a month or so I will be solvent and there is no longer any reason to put off the wedding.’

  No reason, except that Petra could not imagine a worse sister-in-law than Miss Featherstone. While the world generally described her as handsome, Petra always thought of her as horse faced. Not that there was anything wrong with horses. Nor would she dislike anyone simply because of their looks. She was not so petty.

  Unfortunately, Miss Featherstone had never liked Red’s sisters and had called them spoiled and frivolous. Naturally, the scathing words had got back to Petra by way of her friends. She had never told Marguerite.

  ‘What else does Miss Featherstone think?’ she asked Red sweetly. ‘Perhaps she thinks it is time we married again?’

  Red looked distinctly relieved. ‘As do I, my dear Petronella.’ Red only called her by her full name when he thought he could lord it over her. When she was a child, she’d always stuck her tongue out at him when he had done so. Right now, she felt like hitting him over the head.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter what she thinks,’ she said briskly. ‘Or what you think for that matter. I am not marrying anyone.’ She couldn’t bear to think of it after the way she felt about Ethan. She froze. She didn’t mean it quite that way. Ethan was a friend. A close friend whose company she enjoyed to the fullest. As a widow it was permitted. It was a delightful affair that was now over. ‘And you cannot force me to do so.’

  ‘Or me,’ Marguerite said quietly and with a great deal less heat.

  Red rubbed the back of his neck, something he did when faced with a conundrum. ‘Unfortunately, it is... I mean my whole future happiness depends on... You have to understand—’

  ‘Spit it out, for heaven’s sake,’ Marguerite said. ‘I am assuming you have made us part of your agreement with her father.’

  ‘I agreed that I would ensure that I was not carrying any more expenses than the estate can afford. As he pointed out, the income Westram Cottage would bring would be a boon if I could rent it out.’

  ‘We will pay the rent,’ Marguerite said immediately.

  Petra gasped, ‘Marguerite, how can we?’

  Marguerite squared her shoulders. ‘You will let me worry about that.’

  Red looked unconvinced. ‘I am sorry, my dears. I wish I could simply let you have your way in this, but you must either find husbands or come and live with me and Miss Featherstone once we are wed.’

  A shudder rippled through Petra. Living as a poor relation under that woman’s roof would be utterly intolerable.

  ‘Perhaps Carrie—’ she started to say.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Red snapped. ‘Would you have it said I refused to care for my widowed sisters? Lady Avery is not even a relative.’

  ‘She is our sister.’

  ‘She was your sister-in-law and has now married into another family altogether.’

  ‘Anything would be preferable to—’

  ‘Petra,’ Marguerite said calmly. ‘Let us not get into a brangle with our brother. Red, if I can prove to you I can support Petra and myself, will you accept that you are no longer responsible for either of us?’

  Red eyed her warily as if anticipating some sort of trap. ‘If you could prove it to my complete satisfaction, I suppose so. Provided you are not planning to go into trade again. Miss Featherstone was appalled when I told her of your foray into the world of commerce.’

  She would be appalled if they as much as breathed fast. Heaven knew what she would do if she learned about Petra and Ethan. Probably die of apoplexy. In which case, she maybe ought to tell her. She squashed the uncharitable thought.

  If the woman made Red happy, who was she to criticise? But if he was happy, why did he look so careworn? He looked years older than his twenty-five years.

  ‘At the end of one week and I will pay you three months’ rent in advance and show you that I have enough keep Petra and me in style. If I cannot do this, we will agree to abide by your wishes.’

  Investments? Agree? ‘You might be willing to agree—’ Petra said hotly.

  ‘Trust me,’ Marguerite said, the look of appeal in her gaze so intense Petra felt compelled to acquiesce.

  ‘Very well, sister,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I will trust you.’ But she hoped like anything she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

  Red nodded his satisfaction. ‘In the meantime, I shall be happy to foot the bill for one ballgown each. You will need them for my wedding, therefore I will make you a gift of them. And, my dears, it really would please me greatly to see you out and about in society while you are here.’ He gave them a pleading smile.

  Who could resist when he asked so nicely? And Petra had to admit it would be pleasant to catch up with old friends and all the latest on dits. She glanced at Marguerite, who nodded grimly.

  Petra put down her cup. ‘Very well. We shall attend these events.’

  Red rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent.’

  Marguerite rose. ‘I think I need a rest after our journey.’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Petra said. ‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ Petra added when they were on their way up the stairs.

  ‘So do I,’ Marguerite said quietly. But she did not sound at all certain.

  Petra felt as if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

  For one mad moment, she felt like running back to Ethan and telling him she had changed her mind about his offer of marriage. She forced herself to remember he had offered for her only because he had been honour-bound to do so. She reminded herself that Harry had been similarly forced to offer for her and had clearly resented it. Not to mention that, as delightful as a man could seem before a wedding, once married, they held all the power and had no qualms about doing exactly what they wanted.

  So far Ethan had shown nothing but good qualities. But then she had thought the same about Harry. One never knew for certain what lay beneath a person’s surface until they had no reason to hide.

  She’d been disappointed once. She would not take the risk a second time.

  * * *

  Ethan was in London but had yet to contact the lawyer who was supposed to introduce him to his prospective bride. Instead, he’d been investigating other alternatives to return his estate to its former glory. While he knew he had to marry, eventually, he wanted to do it when he was ready, not because of financial exigencies. Unfortunately, none of his enquiries to his fellow peers had borne fruit. While marrying an heiress was his very last choice, no other solution had come to the fore. The day when he would have to knuckle down and admit there was no other way was drawing ever closer.

  The image of pretty little Lady Petra floated across his mind. Too bad she was not a wealthy widow. He pushed the wish aside. It was pointless thinking about how much he enjoyed her company. Or how well they suited. His emotions when it came to Petra were far too strong. He did not want that sort of marriage. He wanted peace in his house.

  Her suggestion of leasing out his fields had been a good one, but upon deeper investigation he had concluded it would not bring enough income. His barns needed repair as did the cottages for the people he needed to employ on the estate. To put it bluntly, he needed a huge infusion of funds. If only there was some way other than marriage...

  A diminutive lady with bright yellow hair swirling around on the dance floor caught his eyes.

  Petra? His heart leaped with joy.

  For a moment he thought his eyes were deceiving him. She always looked lovely, bu
t tonight in a ballgown of a celestial blue that matched her eyes and her hair elaborately dressed, with jewels at her throat and wrists, she looked ethereal. Otherworldly. Not in the least like herself. Yet stunning. Was this the real Petra rather than the woman who tramped across his estate in all weathers to lie in his arms?

  Clearly, she was enjoying herself thoroughly. He glared at her partner, a handsome man with rich auburn hair. Apparently, it hadn’t taken her long to attract an admirer, for there was no denying the warmth in her gaze as she gazed at this man.

  Lord Pelham wandered over to stand beside him. ‘I hear you are going to make your debut in the House of Lords next week, Longhurst?’ He’d briefly met Pelham at an event earlier in the week.

  He bowed. ‘I am.’

  ‘Where do you stand on the Corn Laws?’

  Ethan frowned at the older man. He’d been reading about the matter, about the artificially high price for bread. ‘It is hard to justify keeping the cost of such a basic food item so high.’

  ‘And yet without the necessary protection of our income, men like you and I will be ruined and the men who buy bread will have no work and no money at all. Trust me, it is for the good of the country that we landowners must stand together.’ The older man gave him a hard look.

  ‘Thank you for your advice.’ Ethan wasn’t convinced. He needed to read more from both sides of the question before he made any decision.

  Clearly assuming he had a convert, the other man beamed. ‘You are most welcome. If there is anything else I can do to help you, let me know.’ He bowed and moved to join a group of men on the far side of the room.

  Petra had concluded her dance with the tall red-haired nobleman and was now standing beside her sister, whose severe manner of dress and air made her appear more unapproachable than usual. One could not imagine Lady Marguerite dancing. She also looked very much like... Of course. The man Petra had been dancing with must be her brother, the Earl of Westram.

  A feeling of relief rushed through Ethan. He made his way to Petra’s side and bowed. ‘Lady Marguerite. Lady Petra. What a pleasure to find you here.’