An Earl for the Shy Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  Not content with forcing an earldom on him and having him sent home from the war, she now planned to organise his life to her satisfaction.

  Well, the lady would have to learn he was not a man to be shoved around.

  * * *

  ‘His Lordship’s gone off to London again,’ Mr Barker announced, handing Petra the mail for Westram Cottage.

  Petra’s heart gave a painful little squeeze. She hadn’t known he was going. But then why should she?

  ‘Has he?’ she said vaguely, sorting through the letters as if interested in what they contained, yet waiting on tenterhooks for him to say more.

  ‘Yes. Poor Miss Kitty, she be weeping fit to bust.’

  The pain in her chest grew worse. She knew exactly how poor Miss Kitty felt. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he got all his furniture delivered from town and off he went. Visiting a relative, Mr O’Cleary said.’

  Mr O’Cleary should know better to gossip about his master. ‘How nice.’

  ‘Arr. When he comes back they are getting married.’

  She blinked.

  He gave her a smug look. ‘Thought you’d be surprised. Old Jenks couldn’t believe it hisself. It is not like his Kitty’s been an angel, though she seems a lot steadier now.’

  ‘They are getting married?’ she said faintly. Indeed, perhaps she was going to faint she felt so dizzy. She had never fainted before, but this news...it robbed her of breath. Ethan and Kitty?

  ‘Yes, my lady. As soon as His Lordship returns and the new Vicar arrives to read the banns.’

  ‘How...how delightful.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Whoever would have expected Kitty Jenks to catch as fine a fellow as Mr O’Cleary? You would think he would have more sense. But there’s no accounting for love, they says.’

  The world that had been spinning around Petra’s head came to a sudden stop. She grabbed for the nearest object to steady herself. It proved to be a table full of bolts of cloth and she leaned against it gratefully.

  Barker rushed around the end of the counter. ‘Are you ill, Lady Petra?’ he asked. ‘You’ve gone all pale. Can I get you something? Water? Smelling salts?’

  Petra looked at him through watery eyes. Great heavens, was she crying? ‘I am perfectly fine, Barker.’ Oh, goodness, yes. She was perfectly fine.

  It was if the world had shifted on its axis, giving her a whole new perspective on things.

  She put the letters in her basket and marched for home.

  * * *

  ‘I need to go up to town,’ Marguerite announced, glancing up from one of the letters that had arrived in the post.

  Petra put down her pen. She had been trying to write to Ethan, but she hadn’t got past the initial greeting. How did one apologise and ask a gentleman to offer for one again? ‘You do?’ Her heart leaped with gladness, because London was where Ethan was and it would be far easier to talk to him than write a letter. But there was an odd expression on Marguerite’s face. Petra looked at her sister. ‘Why do you need to go again so soon? It is barely three weeks since we were there last.’

  Colour washed up Marguerite’s cheeks. ‘I need to deliver these drawings in person, they took longer than I expected and I need the money owing on them.’

  Marguerite looked...uncomfortable.

  ‘You aren’t in any sort of trouble, are you?’

  The colour seemed to deepen. Poor Marguerite with her colouring, she never could hide her embarrassment. ‘No. I am not in any trouble, but it is not something I wish to discuss.’

  Marguerite and her secrets. She would tell Petra only what she wanted her to know. Besides, why did she care about Marguerite’s reason? She also wanted to go to London.

  ‘When do you wish to leave?’

  ‘First thing in the morning. Can you be ready by then?’

  ‘I can. Will the town house be open?’

  ‘We are not staying at the town house. We will go to a hotel.’

  ‘Is Red not to know that we are going, then?’ Petra asked.

  ‘I will write and tell him. I expect we shall be home before he receives the letter.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. You would be better to give Briggs two days’ notice so he can put the knocker on the door. Then Red won’t be annoyed.’ Briggs was the caretaker and also served as butler when the family came to town.

  Marguerite frowned. ‘You are right, but I don’t have time to await Briggs’s pleasure. Dash it, he can put the knocker on the door the moment we arrive. It is not as if the place has been closed up for months. I certainly don’t want Red hotfooting down to London for no reason.’

  ‘I’ll get started on my packing.’

  With a hopeful heart. Petra went upstairs and pulled her trunk out from beneath her bed.

  Her heart dipped a bit when she stared into the bottom of it. What if Ethan wouldn’t see her after she’d been so distant towards him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  To Petra’s pleasant surprise, Red had been invited to meet the new Earl of Longhurst at a ball being given by Lady Frances. The invitation had been waiting on the hall stand when Petra and Marguerite arrived. To Petra’s disappointment, she and Marguerite were not included in the invitation.

  ‘But there is no need for us to go in Red’s place anyway,’ Marguerite said. ‘We have met him many times. He is our neighbour.’

  ‘He is also our friend,’ Petra argued. ‘I am sure he would appreciate the sight of a familiar face or two.’

  ‘Lord Longhurst seems perfectly capable of taking care of himself.’

  ‘I am going regardless.’

  Marguerite heaved a sigh. ‘You always were a spoiled brat.’

  Capitulation. Petra smiled. ‘You always were an absolute dear.’

  Marguerite laughed and gave her a hug. ‘So, what are you up to, Petra? Have you decided you want him after all? If so, I pity the poor fellow. He doesn’t stand a chance.’

  She did want him. She’d realised that after the storm of emotions she had suffered in the post office. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But she wanted all of him, not just his friendship or his duty. She wanted his love. On reflection, she was almost convinced he felt more for her than mere friendship. Or attraction. If only he would admit it.

  The way he looked at her, spoke to her, responded to her, said he did, whether they were making love or simply talking about his fields. Except that every time things got to a point when he should be expressing his feelings for her, he seemed to shy away from doing so. Perhaps there was something in his past holding him back? It had taken her a great deal of thinking to come up with this revelation. She just hoped she wasn’t fooling herself.

  ‘I am not yet completely sure he wants me. Not as much as I’m certain I want him.’ She noticed she was not using the word love. She had flung it about with abandon in regard to Harry, but with Ethan it seemed too precious, too vulnerable, too easily broken to be sprinkled hither and yon. When she spoke of it, he would be the first to hear it from her lips.

  Marguerite patted her shoulder. ‘Did you argue the night of the bonfire?’

  ‘Oh, dear, was it that obvious?’

  ‘Perhaps not to others. I sensed a coolness when you bid each other farewell.’

  Petra sighed. ‘It was my fault. I jumped to a wrong conclusion.’

  Marguerite’s expression filled with sympathy. ‘And you wish to apologise.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we shall go to his introductory ball. I will reply to Lady Frances that while Red is not in town, you and I will be delighted to attend in his place. I doubt she will have the nerve to refuse us admittance.’ She winced. ‘I have heard that Lady Frances is doing her best to marry him off to her niece.’

  Petra felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Don’t tell me she is an heiress.’

&nbs
p; Marguerite frowned. ‘Not that I am aware. But she is from a very good family, just out of the schoolroom and quite lovely.’

  Petra’s heart sank. Perhaps he’d prefer to marry a fresh young miss than a widow who had not trusted him to behave with honour.

  Well, there was only one way to find out.

  * * *

  Introductory ball! Ethan ran a glance over the debutantes arrayed before him in their finest silks. It was more like market day in Oxted. He tried not to show his distaste. The young ladies were only doing their parents’ bidding after all.

  Lady Frances, the woman he thought of as his nemesis, had turned out to be a feisty elderly lady with dropsy who favoured the enormous wigs of the last century. And he liked her a great deal despite her odd ways. He stood beside her where she presided over the ballroom from a golden chair of state near the fireplace. She hated to be cold. Something she had in common with the Prince Regent.

  Lady Frances slammed her stick against the floor. Her way of getting his attention. ‘All you have to do is pick one. Do your duty and get an heir. I went to a great deal of trouble to find you. Now repay me by playing your part, young man.’

  While the words were harsh, the twinkle in her eye was not unfriendly. He’d crossed swords a few times with her since their first meeting and she had been delighted by his spirit, as she called it. Apparently, she liked a man who could stand up for himself.

  Good lord, what sort of men was she used to? ‘I do not suppose you care that I would have preferred to remain a simple soldier.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  It hadn’t been nonsense. But... While he didn’t care much about the title, there was that odd sensation that at Longhurst Park he was finally home. Much as he had tried, he could not shake it loose.

  He had decided that having someone to share his home with would be a good thing. Provided it was the right person. He did not want to end up in the sort of marriage his parents had endured.

  ‘Lady Marguerite Saxby and Lady Petra Davenport,’ the butler announced.

  His heart gave a painful thump.

  ‘Widows,’ Lady Frances said, grimacing. ‘Their husbands, silly fellows, went off to war because of some foolish wager. Died for it, too. Those two gals went off and buried themselves in the country.’

  She’d been editorialising every guest as they entered. ‘They are my neighbours at Longhurst.’

  ‘Are they, by God?’

  Her salty language kept taking him by surprise and making him want to laugh. ‘They are.’

  She perched her pince-nez on the end of her nose and leaned forward. ‘Handsome pair. The older one had a come out. The younger married straight out of the schoolroom. Married a proper rogue, as I hear it. Had a wandering eye. Never let an opportunity pass when it came to an available female. She is far better off without him in my opinion.’

  Ethan froze, recalling his last conversation with Petra. He’d been explaining the Miss Kitty event, as he’d come to think of it. He’d been wounded by her lack of trust, but in light of this information, her reaction made far more sense. Somewhat. He remained troubled by how quickly she’d turned chilly towards him.

  ‘Which one takes your fancy?’ the old lady asked.

  Damnation, he had been staring at Petra like a lovelorn swain. ‘Lady Frances, I would be obliged—’

  ‘Fiddle-faddle. What is a mind for, if it is not to speak it? Why not enjoy yourself with a lovely widow? They are both of an age to choose a lover.’

  Anger heated his blood. ‘The ladies are friends of mine. You will not speak of them with such disrespect.’ He forced a smile that was both pleasant and dangerous. ‘And you will listen to me. I am, after all, the head of your house.’

  Lady Frances reared back. Ran her gaze up and down his length. A smile appeared on her face. ‘Proving your mettle, are you? Have at it, then, sirrah.’ She nodded. ‘You will do. Yes, indeed, you will. Glad I didn’t let that totty-headed Prince of Wales put the title into abeyance. Very glad.’

  Strangely, he was glad, too. ‘Good. I will bring the ladies to meet you.’

  He marched across the ballroom. People moved out of his path and for once he did not mind that his height and his bulk tended to make people give way.

  Petra was smiling at him.

  And he was grinning back like a fool.

  She held out a hand as he reached her and he took it, touching his lips to the back of her glove, though he knew he should not have. He turned and greeted Lady Marguerite.

  ‘I did not know you ladies were coming up to town.’

  ‘We arrived two days ago,’ Petra said. ‘We are here as representatives of our brother.’

  That would account for their presence. Lady Frances had insisted on inviting every member of the ton to this ball. And all their daughters and nieces.

  ‘I want you to meet my elderly relative, Lady Frances.’

  ‘Good heavens, must we? The woman terrifies me,’ Marguerite muttered.

  ‘You know her?’ Petra asked.

  ‘She is one of the denizens. I was warned at my come out to make sure I did not annoy her or I would find myself barred from Almack’s and all sorts of other horrid fates.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ Petra exclaimed. ‘She sounds like a tartar.’

  ‘Her bark is worse than her bite,’ Ethan explained. ‘She likes people who stand their ground.’

  ‘Tally-ho!’ Petra said and laughed.

  God, he’d missed her sense of humour. And her laughter. He’d missed all of her. ‘Will you save a dance for me?’ he asked. ‘The supper dance?’ That way, he would be able to take her into supper and sit with her while she ate. It would be a chance to talk. He also had reacted badly at the bonfire. He had withdrawn from combat when he should have regrouped and counter-attacked.

  His dealings with his parents had taught him that in relationships it was better to leave the field, but Petra was not like his mother or his father. On the other hand, she should have trusted him. Still, he should not have pulled back without giving her his side of the story.

  He offered the ladies an arm each and walked them to stand before Lady Frances’s chair. Both ladies dipped elegant curtsies.

  ‘Lady Frances, may I introduce Lady Petra Davenport and Lady Marguerite Saxby. As I mentioned, they are neighbours of mine in Kent.’

  ‘I know them,’ the lady replied. ‘The Westram girls. Where’s that brother of yours? Westram. He was the one I invited.’

  ‘Our brother finds himself detained in Gloucestershire, my lady,’ Marguerite replied. ‘As I wrote to you.’

  The old lady waved a dismissive hand. ‘My secretary takes care of correspondence.’

  ‘Our brother suggested we come in his stead,’ Marguerite said. ‘I had no idea you were related to Lord Longhurst, Lady Frances.’

  ‘Nor did he,’ the old lady replied drily. ‘But I winkled him out in the end.’

  ‘You did indeed, my lady,’ Ethan said, keeping a straight face. ‘You are a force to be reckoned with. Even Wellington bowed to your wishes.’

  Lady Frances beamed. She was not in the least averse to a bit of flattery.

  ‘Perhaps you ladies can help me,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I need to get this rapscallion cousin of mine married off so I can die a happy woman. Which of these lovelies—’ she gave an all-encompassing glance around the room ‘—would you see as being ideal for him?’

  Petra’s eyes widened and Ethen wanted to put his boot in his cousin’s mouth. Gently but firmly.

  Marguerite gave one of her cool smiles. ‘Regretfully, I doubt we can be of much help, my lady. We have been out of society for some considerable time and know nothing of this Season’s crop of debutantes.’

  ‘Then you are of no use to me,’ Lady Frances said, waving them away.

  They curtsied and left.<
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  ‘That was rather rude of you,’ Ethan said, watching Petra’s diminutive figure as she crossed the room.

  Lady Frances sniffed. ‘It was the truth. No one ever likes to hear the truth.’ She beckoned another young lady hovering on the sidelines just out of earshot. ‘Let me introduce you to Miss Carver. Her family have ironworks in the North. Related to some of the best families in England.’

  ‘Not even you can spike my guns, Lady Frances,’ he murmured as the young lady hesitantly moved closer.

  Lady Frances cackled. ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  The girl, executing a perfect curtsy, gazed at her in terror.

  * * *

  ‘My word, she really is terrifying,’ Petra said as she and Marguerite wandered the length of the ballroom.

  ‘Longhurst is more than a match for her,’ Marguerite replied. ‘She can’t resist a handsome face.’

  Petra sighed. ‘He truly is handsome, isn’t he? But more than that he is a truly honourable man.’

  Marguerite made a face. ‘He certainly appears so.’

  ‘You think otherwise?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have no reason to doubt him. But then I had no reason to doubt Neville either. Before I married him.’

  Petra stopped walking to look at her sister. Really look at her and what she saw was worrisome. Marguerite looked weary and desperately unhappy. ‘I—I thought you loved Neville.’

  ‘I hated him so much I wished him dead.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Marguerite. Truly?’

  ‘Truly. And that is all I am going to say about it. But, Petra, unless you think you have a real chance for happiness with Lord Longhurst, I recommend you think very carefully before you jump in with both feet.’

  ‘As I did with Harry. He was certainly no angel.’

  ‘As I believe Red tried to tell you.’

  Petra sighed. ‘He did. But I am older now and much wiser. Besides, I know Ethan a great deal better than I ever knew Harry before we wed. In Harry’s case, I saw only what I wanted to see.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘To be honest, I may have burned my bridges with Longhurst. I was awful to him the last time we spoke.’