The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  At dinner, he had engaged William in a lively discussion of the play, comparing this company to productions they both recalled from school. He had not allowed William to change the subject or leave the parlor. Laura had glared daggers at him more than once, raising his hopes that she finally understood he wasn’t interested.

  Now he faced a more challenging test. There was no play to divert attention, and they were no longer in a private parlor. Every word and gesture would be analyzed by the gossips. Catherine was on his arm because she was the eldest, but he kept his expression dutiful.

  When a matron cut Catherine, he recoiled as if the cut was directed at him, then cut the woman in return – not that he expected the ploy to work. It would not be long before the gossips knew he was taking Catherine’s side against them. He only hoped Jasper would not attend the assembly. It would be a long enough evening as it was.

  “I told you I should have stayed home,” Catherine murmured as Mrs. Telcor added her own cut.

  “Nonsense. You have as much right to be here as they. More, for your breeding is better.”

  “Reputation surpasses breeding. Leave me before you tarnish your own. Dance with Laura.”

  “No. I will lead you out.” He could not dance with Laura first, but he could dance with each of his host’s sisters in turn.

  Or so he hoped. In truth, he had ached to touch Catherine since succumbing to temptation in the library that morning. His finger tingled whenever he recalled that brief contact.

  It was the situation, he assured himself. Once his task was finished, these feelings would fade. The only reason he was turning into a maudlin fool was because his vow forced him to think of her day and night, yet spending time together would hurt her. No wonder she invaded his dreams to suggest ways he could brush against her as they moved through the patterns of a country dance.

  Don’t feed the gossip, warned his conscience.

  It was right. He must be careful. Too much contact would suggest that she was his mistress. Too little would condemn her as wanton, for his supposed friendship with William had led several people to assume he shared William’s priggishness – which had raised more than one private chuckle.

  She shrugged and accompanied him to the nearest set. William led out Laura. Mary slipped into a corner, where she happily greeted an elderly gentleman. When the words green woodpecker penetrated a lull in the conversation, Blake relaxed. Mary had found another bird lover.

  He had his baser instincts firmly under control by the time the music started, though it was hard to ignore the bosom peeping above Catherine’s decorous neckline. His conscience kept up a running commentary as he executed the steps: No one will notice if you grip her hand too firmly, but don’t brush her shoulder or hip; hold her gaze only when together; don’t peer down her bodice on the passes; think depressing thoughts so your desire doesn’t show; don’t brush against her, you idiot!

  As the dance advanced them up the set, he watched the gossips whispering in the corners. Mrs. Telcor glared as though he’d betrayed her. Her closest friends sported expressions ranging from disapproval to appalled fury. Several men seemed envious. One conveyed pity, making him wonder if the man knew Jasper was behind the rumors. But two ladies surprised him by ignoring Catherine to shake their heads at Mrs. Telcor. Perhaps he could use the animosity later.

  “I told you I shouldn’t have come,” repeated Catherine when they reached the top of the set and stood out for a pattern. “I don’t know which is worse – the men’s leers or the ladies’ cuts.”

  “Both will admit the truth in the end.” He tried to sound reassuring even as he projected polite ennui for the benefit of their audience.

  “Being here reminds everyone of the scandal,” she continued, ignoring his words. “Did you see Alicia cut William when we arrived?”

  “The girl in the green silk gown?” She had reminded him of every encroaching mushroom he’d ever met. A heavy necklace more suited to a dowager circled her neck. At least three strands of oversized pearls threaded her hair. And her gown was cut scandalously low.

  She nodded. “He has been courting her for months and planned to speak with her father before the rumors started. Now his hopes are shattered.”

  “Is that a tragedy?” he asked, glancing toward the next set, where Alicia danced with a young dandy. The look in her eye was familiar. Miss Wyath might enjoy flirting, but William was not wealthy enough to satisfy her ambitions. “She does not strike me as a welcome addition to the household. William will soon rejoice at his lucky escape.”

  Catherine’s smile raised his temperature. “You are right, of course. I had hoped marriage would settle her, but I have wondered about the effect she would have on my sisters.”

  “And on Sarah,” he murmured as the next pattern began, drawing them back into the dance. As always with country dances, they had no chance to exchange more than an occasional comment as they worked their way back down the set. He kept his expression polite and his eyes on the crowd, but he could not help gripping her hand tighter than was necessary whenever the steps drew them together.

  He led Laura out for the next set. This time he had no trouble producing the expected ennui, though he soon had to hide disgust. Her desperation was obvious this evening. Perhaps the cuts brought home the extent of Jasper’s schemes, or maybe she was frustrated over his lack of interest. Whatever the cause, she grew more brazen with each repetition of the pattern. By the time they ducked under the third couple’s upraised arms, she was plastered so close to his side, she was wrinkling his coat. Her proprietary manner froze his blood.

  His temper finally exploded. He let disapproval show on his face and maintained as much distance as possible. It made her seem crassly forward, but calling censure onto her shoulders was better than facing her at an altar. And he was ready to strangle her for adding credence to the rumors. How could he convince people that Catherine was proper when Laura put on such a vulgar display? Had Laura no thought beyond her own ambitions? Surely she could see the damage she was doing to her family. He would have abandoned her on the dance floor if it would not have hurt Catherine even more. But the experience cleared his thinking.

  “To the devil with convention,” he muttered when he finally escaped her company. He would speak to William in the morning and make it clear that he had no interest in the girl.

  In the meantime, he approached Mary.

  “Your turn,” he said, smiling easily, for he genuinely liked her. “Will you join me for the next set?”

  “But—”

  “Nonsense, child,” said her companion, cutting off her protest. “Don’t waste time on an old codger like me when you have a chance to dance with a handsome lord.”

  She blushed. “I rarely dance.”

  “Then it is time you did.” Blake reached for her hand. “You are long out of the schoolroom, Mary.”

  “I suppose I am,” she admitted, rising. “But I find conversation more interesting than parading about with boring peacocks.”

  Blake laughed. “I have been firmly set in my place,” he told the old man.

  “I didn’t mean you,” she gasped, blushing.

  “Manners, child,” chided her friend.

  Her blush deepened. “Oh! My lord, this is Mr. Fester, who shares my interest in birds. The Earl of Rockhurst.”

  Blake acknowledged the introduction, then led Mary away. “I won’t bite,” he promised as they took their places in the set.

  “I know.” She sighed. “Please forgive me for sounding rude. I can never say the right thing in public. My mind empties of all rational thought.”

  “Because you try too hard. You talk easily to Fester.”

  “But that is about birds.”

  “A topic you know and love, so you don’t heed the impression you might be making. You know much about many fascinating topics. Mention one and you might discover other gentlemen who share your interests.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “You are far too
young to interest me personally,” he said, emphasizing the far in hopes that it would put Laura in the same category. “But you are charming, intelligent, and very likable. Unless you intend to spend the rest of your life teaching girls like Sarah, you need to consider what will happen when William weds.”

  The faintest frown creased her forehead, disappearing when the music started.

  “Alicia will never accept him,” she murmured when the dance brought them together.

  “True.” He backed into place. “But he is looking and is bound to find someone who will,” he reminded her when they came together again.

  She let the next two meetings pass with only a social smile before responding. “I have avoided thinking about the future.”

  He nodded, but did not answer until they reached the head of the set. “Is the idea of marriage so terrible?”

  “I hate the sprigs who scramble to attract Laura’s attention. They are such silly fribbles.”

  “But not everyone is like that,” he reminded her. Losing her governess at age fourteen had not helped her social education. “Many men enjoy serious pursuits. Some even enjoy serious ladies. My closest friend’s new wife has read thousands of books and knows more about estate management than he does. He welcomes her knowledge. And he is not alone, though it is unfashionable to admit that one prefers an intelligent woman.”

  “Are you implying that men hide their interests in public?”

  “Of course. So do most women. Every occasion has its rules. Society gatherings are for light conversation and flirtation. But that does not mean that no one is capable of thinking. While some men consider bluestockings unladylike, that usually hides their own lack of understanding. Ask questions, and you will eventually find someone who shares your interests.”

  “Like Mr. Fester?”

  “Exactly. People do not wait until old age to develop serious interests. Ask him how long he has studied birds.”

  The dance drew them back, preventing further conversation. He wondered how one family could produce three such different women – caring, sensible Catherine; flirtatious, self-absorbed Laura; shy, intellectual Mary, though her shyness was produced in part by Laura’s vivacity. Having a beautiful sister could not have been easy. To avoid competition, she had withdrawn into books and teaching. But a baron’s sister deserved more than serving as governess to a sequence of nieces and nephews.

  He returned Mary to Fester’s corner, then slipped away before Laura could accost him. Empty space surrounded Catherine, but she was holding her head high. William had stepped outside, so he followed.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said as the two women he’d spotted earlier emerged from an antechamber.

  “My lord.” The taller one pursed her lips in disapproval as she examined him from head to toe. “I must say I am shocked that a man of your standing would flaunt that woman in decent company.”

  “Clara!” gasped her companion.

  “I refuse to ignore what is before my eyes, Hortense,” Clara snapped.

  “You are referring to Mrs. Parrish, I presume?” he asked.

  “Who else?”

  “I know Mrs. Telcor condemns her, for she told me so herself, but I prefer to form my own opinions.” He smiled at Clara. “I have known William Seabrook for sixteen years. Not once have I heard him lie, even when doing so might save him grief. So when he swears his sister is innocent, I must take heed.”

  “What does he know?” demanded Clara with a snort. “He’s such a prude he’d have to throw her out if he admitted the truth. Then he’d have to look after those girls himself.”

  “I agree that men are often blind,” he said soothingly. “But Seabrook is hardly a fool. Nor would his priggishness allow him to leave his sisters in the care of a wanton.”

  Hortense frowned.

  “Judge for yourselves. Mrs. Telcor undoubtedly claims that Mrs. Parrish slips away while Seabrook is occupied on the estate.” Clara was nodding. “I would counter with my own observations. Since my arrival, Mrs. Parrish has spent the better part of every day teaching in the schoolroom. Sarah considers this normal. Mrs. Parrish spends at least an hour each morning with the cook and housekeeper. They consider this normal. She eats breakfast with her brother and dinner with the entire family, then spends her evenings in the drawing room. Again, this is a daily habit that no one questions. Thus I must ask how a woman could carry out frequent assignations when those closest to her remain ignorant of her activities and can account for all of her time.”

  “He has a point,” said Hortense. “I’ve seen her feeding the squirrels with Sarah. They have a remarkable bond.”

  “But rumors do not grow themselves,” said Clara.

  “Not without malicious help,” he suggested. “But I’ve no doubt you can discover the truth. No one guilty of such excess can escape notice by astute ladies such as yourselves. If you have seen nothing untoward all these years, then perhaps there was nothing to see.”

  “Hmph.” Clara snorted, but Hortense seemed thoughtful.

  “Observation might also reveal who is starting these tales,” he added before bidding them farewell. Perhaps they would ask questions that would make people more receptive to admitting Jasper’s guilt.

  Or perhaps not. Some people had no interest in logic. The discussion wafting out of the ladies’ retiring room proved that self-interest often reigned supreme.

  “Shocking!” Miss Wyath exclaimed. Her voice had a piercing quality that made it unforgettable – and quite irritating. “I cannot believe she had the nerve to come here. A harlot has no place in genteel company.”

  “I cannot understand why your mother allowed you to remain, my dear,” said another woman. “I sent my Harriet home to protect her sensibilities.”

  “And not only from Mrs. Parrish,” put in a third. “Her sister is just as bad. I’ve never witnessed such a shocking flirt. Did you see how she wrapped herself around the earl? Shameless!”

  Blake grimaced, not that the words surprised him. Had Laura realized how badly she had tarnished her own reputation? And in front of a hundred witnesses. When she did, she would become even more desperate.

  But he could not linger in the hallway. He knew why Miss Wyath had not left. Her eyes had followed him all evening, greed glittering in their amber depths. He’d learned that her mother was better-born than Mr. Wyath and dreamed of regaining her social position by arranging a splendid match for Alicia. Alicia seemed eager to comply. Her unseemly neckline and excessive jewelry were intended to draw his eye.

  Stepping outside, he pulled the door closed, then ducked around the corner.

  William was leaning against the wall, staring at nothing.

  “Trouble?” asked Blake, joining him.

  He shrugged.

  “She is not worth such melancholy,” he said daringly, for it was not the thing to interfere in a gentleman’s courtship, even if the man was a close friend.

  “That is not the problem. Alicia must follow her parents’ lead, and they are understandably cautious about the rumors. But I had not realized how bad those had become. Bringing Catherine was a mistake. We should leave before the situation grows worse.”

  “She is here on my orders. Hiding from her detractors makes her seem ashamed. And now that we are here, leaving would cause even more harm.” He paused to make sure William understood. “As to Miss Wyath, while I am sure she is a dutiful daughter, I doubt she disagrees with her parents on this point. I have met many girls like her in London. Their sole ambition is to attach the greatest fortune and highest title available. She would never consider yours without first testing her charms on a wider market.”

  “You wrong her.” His fists clenched, driving off every trace of low spirits. “Her parents may have hopes, but Alicia is sweet and kind.”

  “Perhaps, though my own impressions are otherwise. Her eyes reveal the sort of calculation I’ve seen before – on Miss Edgerton, for example. She made her bows in London two Seasons ago, flirting lightly a
nd smiling sweetly. Not until accepting a wealthy earl did she reveal her true nature. One of my friends owns the adjacent estate. He reports that she makes constant demands for jewels and clothes and trips to London. And she despises her husband’s sisters and two aunts, who live with them.”

  “Alicia would never hurt my family.” But his protest lacked force.

  “Three observations, Seabrook.” He kept his tone friendly. “First, she not only cut Catherine, but referred to her as a harlot barely five minutes ago in the retiring room. Second, it is my experience that girls usually become much like their mothers after marriage; from what I’ve heard, Mrs. Wyath is not a comfortable wife. And third, she has been trying to catch my eye all evening.”

  Seabrook’s own eyes seemed troubled. “She did express surprise when I mentioned that I’ve no interest in London society, but she never raised the subject again.”

  “It is my guess that she has been practicing her flirtation skills on you. If you offered, she would refuse, but she would prefer to keep you at hand in case she fails to find a better match. You do have a title.”

  “Perhaps.” He sighed. “No, there is no perhaps about it. You are right. She deflected an offer last summer. I thought it was because I had not yet spoken to her father.”

  “You should return.” Blake nodded toward the ballroom. “Implying that either Miss Wyath or the cuts drove you away will do no good.”

  “Of course,” William acknowledged. “I should not have left Catherine to face people alone.”

  Pasting on a smile, he headed back to the assembly.

  Blake waited several minutes before following, not wanting to suggest that he had fetched the baron. But one glance from the doorway had him cursing under his breath. Laura had joined Mary and Fester in the corner, her tremulous smile hinting that she was close to tears. Mrs. Telcor was reading William a scold, judging from his expression. And three men had backed Catherine against a wall, their leers making it clear that dancing was not on their minds. One of them was three sheets to the wind.