Wedding the Widow Read online

  After entering the drawing room, Elizabeth sank gratefully onto the lush green brocade chair beside the fireplace, sighing as the warmth seeped into her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep right here.

  “Darling, you must tell us all about the house party,” her mother said, lowering herself into the companion chair across from her. She handed Elizabeth a cup of tea. “You look completely fagged.”

  “I am, Mama.” Elizabeth accepted the cup and eagerly sipped the hot, sweet tea. “I’d much rather hear about Bella’s betrothal. How extraordinary that Lord Haxton would propose after so many months without a word.”

  “He was much taken with Bella this summer, I just knew it.” Dorothea, her youngest sister, at eighteen, plumped down on the settee. “After Bella told me he’d danced twice with her at three different events in May, I knew he must be in love with her.”

  “Was he, Dotty?” Her mother’s eyebrows rose like birds taking flight. “Why didn’t you tell me this at the time? I daresay with that information I could have had Isabella married and in an interesting condition by now.”

  “Mama!” Bella blushed rosy red.

  “Well, I didn’t want to spoil it if by some chance he actually offered for that Lady Anne Tarkington.” Dotty’s lips curved upward. “Not the friendliest young lady of our acquaintance. Do you know her, Elizabeth? Always snobbish and stuck up because her father’s a marquess.”

  “Don’t be a cat, Dorothea.” Their mother sat back sipping her tea, disapproval in her eyes.

  “Well, he’s my Lord Haxton now.” Bella smiled like a cat with cream on its whiskers. “And I believe we will suit famously. He loves to ride, so we share that interest. I’m sure he told you about his racing stable. And at Vauxhall he mentioned a passion for Greek statuary, of all things. He’s said as soon as the Elgin Marbles exhibit is opened, he will take me there. Perhaps in the new year.”

  “Likely married by that time as well,” Mama said, adding sugar to her tea. “No reason in the world to wait. Short engagements are best. Marry on the Monday after the reading of the third banns. That would be three weeks from this coming Sunday. Oh, we have so much to do, girls. That may simply not be enough time.”

  “Well, you certainly seem to be well suited so far as I know, Bella. That is a very fortunate thing.” Elizabeth smiled, remembering the early days of her marriage. She and Dickon had shared a passion for walks and touring the fine houses of England. They had spent their wedding trip in the Lake District, going through great house after great house, building castles in the air about their modest home in London. Did Lord Brack enjoy such outings, perhaps? She shook herself and gulped her tea.

  “We really must think about setting the date, Bella.” Mama returned to the subject of the wedding. “After Christmas, perhaps, but certainly before the Season. Then we can concentrate on Bella before all our time is taken up with chaperoning Dotty and making sure she makes a good match as well.” Her mother leaned her head toward Bella and Dotty, and they all began an earnest discussion of the wedding details.

  Elizabeth set her cup in her saucer, turning the handle this way and that. She didn’t begrudge Bella the excitement of planning her day of glory, but she needed to also think about her own immediate future. The sobering fact was her life now would be very different than before Dickon’s death unless she decided to set her cap at someone like Lord Brack.

  His ready smile and jovial attitude would make him an excellent companion. They would certainly have no problems, no inhibitions about the physical side of marriage. The cup clinked into the saucer dangerously close to the edge of the table. How could she continue to think about a future with Lord Brack when she didn’t know how she could ever face him again? Even worse, if they did marry, how could she be sure that such a shameful faux pas would never happen again?

  “Is something wrong, Elizabeth?” Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts like a rock shattering glass.

  “No, Mama. Why do you ask?” Hastily, she lifted her teacup, only to discover it was empty.

  “You had a very odd expression on your face. Like your tooth ached.” Mama raised her head from her conversation and peered at her. “Please be careful to have a pleasant, gracious expression on when Lord Haxton enters.”

  “Yes, Mama. No, I am fine. Just tired.” She rose and took her cup to the tea tray. “Shall I ring for more tea?”

  “Please do. I suspect we shall go through several pots before the gentlemen join us.”

  Elizabeth pulled the strip of tapestry-woven cloth. “Actually, I hoped to be excused, Mama. I am very tired, and I wanted to rise early and breakfast with the children. I thought we could spend the day together since I have not seen them since last week.”

  “Oh, no, my dear.” Her mother shook her head and clucked her tongue. “The children have their own activities planned for tomorrow, and I insist you come with me to pay calls.”

  “But—”

  “Elizabeth, you cannot continue to coddle Kate and Colin, especially not Colin. You don’t want him to grow up cosseted like a lap dog, do you?” Mama fixed her with a gimlet eye.

  “Of course not, Mama, but he’s only six years old.” Elizabeth looked to her sisters for support, but Dotty suddenly gazed intently into the fire, and Bella studiously inspected the bottom of her teacup. Precious little help to be had from that quarter. “He’s still a baby.”

  “He’ll be off to Winchester in less than two years’ time. If you know what’s good for him, you’ll encourage him to be more independent now so it doesn’t go badly for him later.” Mama nodded vehemently.

  A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach. “Dickon and I had agreed to allow him to study with a tutor rather than attend boarding school so young.”

  “Nonsense.” Her mother rose as the door opened to admit the maid with a fresh pot of tea. “Colin will go to Winchester, then Harrow, then Oxford, just as your father did.”

  “But Dickon said—”

  “Your father and I have discussed the matter, Elizabeth.” Mama waved her hand as though that were the end of the matter. “We have decided it is really in Colin’s best interest to follow in this family’s traditions, since his father is no longer here. Ah, there you are, Wentworth.”

  The maid scurried out as the gentlemen strode in. Everyone tried to talk at once, save Elizabeth, who retreated to the bay window overlooking the park opposite.

  She mustn’t let her parents’ ideas upset her. Colin and Kate were her children, hers and Dickon’s. No matter what, she would raise them as she deemed fit. As she and Dickon had discussed in the long, lovely evenings after the twins had been born.

  The park, now touched by the light of the half moon, had been a favorite place to play when she’d been growing up. She’d hoped her children might enjoy that as well. However, if the only way to raise them correctly meant she had to leave Worth House, then she would do just that. The children were all she had left of Dickon. If she had to marry another man to see them raised as she wished, then she would do so without a second thought. Of course, she would have to trust such a man without qualm, for the moment they married, the children would be considered under his guardianship. Perhaps she should write to Georgie and ask about her brother’s views on child rearing. Even if she never spoke to his lordship again, it certainly did no harm to ask. At least she would be prepared for that contingency.

  Chapter 6

  “That gold with a black lace overlay would look lovely on you, Elizabeth.” Lady Stephen Tarkington—Fanny, to her friends—peered at the delightful shantung silk through her quizzing glass. “Very elegant, I think.”

  “You’re right, it would give a perfect touch of splendor. However,” Elizabeth paused, shaking her head regretfully at the bolt of fabric, “I simply cannot wear black to a wedding. Especially not Charlotte’s. It would seem as though I were tempting fate. I wouldn’t want to bring bad luck down on her for anything in this world.” She sighed and reluctantly mov
ed on. “Not even for such a perfect gown.”

  “I can’t say that I blame you.” Fanny hurried past three bolts of purple fabric, each one more hideous in color than the last. “Who in their right mind would wear this?” She touched the darkest of the three, a shade approaching the tones of an eggplant.

  “I did when I went into half-mourning.” Elizabeth stared at Fanny, who blushed, her pale face turning a rosy pink.

  “I beg your pardon, Elizabeth.” Her lips twitched.

  “Don’t.” Elizabeth smiled and patted her friend’s arm. “It was hideous when I bought it. The color of dark thunderclouds. See.” She turned the fabric to and fro in the mid-morning light that streamed into Wilding & Kent, the fabric warehouse her family had always patronized. The deep purple looked dull and unattractive.

  “Then why did you buy it, goose?” Fanny shuddered and moved toward the counter strewn with bolts in every imaginable shade of green. “Would this look good on me?” She fingered a brilliant emerald-green cut velvet.

  “Oh, yes. It makes your eyes sparkle. On me, however . . .” Elizabeth sighed. She wouldn’t wear green on a bet. It made her skin look like new cheese. “I got the purple because I was still grieving for Dickon, and I wanted to look hideous. I hurt so badly I wanted everyone who saw me to experience the hurt.”

  Fanny peered closer at the expensive material. “It does remind one of a bruise, now that I think of it.”

  Sputtering, Elizabeth turned back toward the gold. That would make a stunning dress for Charlotte’s wedding. Not flashy enough to take away attention from the bride, but subtly rich and elegant. With the right design and accessories, it would turn the head of—drat. She’d promised herself not to think of Lord Brack.

  “You could try a white lace overlay instead.” Fanny had followed her back to the display of yellows and deeper golds. “Or perhaps gold on gold, if it’s much deeper. That would cause a few heads to turn.”

  There was only one head she’d possibly want to turn, but even thinking his name brought on a blush. Only three nights ago, she’d made her disgraceful faux pas with Lord Brack. That humiliation still raw, she could scarcely contemplate seeing him face-to-face, much less speaking to him.

  She’d wanted to hide away from the world, certain anyone seeing her guilty face would immediately know what had happened. However, when Fanny had sent round a note, asking her help in selecting dress materials for Charlotte’s wedding in early December, Elizabeth had been curious about what might have been said about her precipitous flight from Lyttlefield Park.

  “You may be right about the gold.” She truly had little interest in this shopping excursion. Rather, she longed for a comfortable coze over a pot of tea to discover what had been said about her and, more importantly, what Lord Brack had said.

  “To tell you the truth, Elizabeth, it won’t matter a jot what you wear. I vow Lord Brack will not take his eyes off you from the moment you enter Lyttlefield Park.”

  A chill raced down her spine, and she shivered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Fanny. Lord Brack has been very kind, but—”

  Fanny snorted and shot her a look that silenced her. “You don’t fool anyone, Elizabeth, least of all me. You and Brack were quite attracted to one another at both of Charlotte’s parties.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t yet called on you to propose.”

  “I am certain he would do no such thing.” A churning in her stomach made Elizabeth catch hold of the counter.

  “Why else would he have left Lyttlefield Park for London the same day you did?”

  “What?” Elizabeth grabbed Fanny’s arm, dread descending on her. “Lord Brack did what?”

  “He left for London on Sunday afternoon. I didn’t see him, but Georgie told me.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. Lord Brack in London? Had he no respect for her wishes? Still . . . “He has not come to call on me.” Pray God he did not. “Perhaps Georgie was mistaken.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Fanny rocked back on her heels. “He will likely put in an appearance shortly. Trust me; he is smitten with you, my dear. Throughout the whole party, he might as well have shouted from the rooftops, ‘I’m in love with Elizabeth Easton.’”

  “Fanny, for God’s sake, lower your voice,” Elizabeth hissed, quickly glancing to see if other patrons nearby marked their conversation. Fortunately, everyone seemed absorbed in making their own purchases.

  “Do you deny it? Or your interest in him?”

  Staring at her friend, Elizabeth’s heart sank. She’d tried to persuade herself that she did not miss Lord Brack’s company. That this longing she could not deny stemmed from still missing Dickon, but deep in her heart, it wasn’t true. “I did become very fond of Lord Brack when we were at Charlotte’s.”

  The admission came slowly, painfully, and brought a rush of guilt with it. Her husband, whom she had loved very much, had been dead only a little less than a year and a half. Surely that was too short a time for her heart to heal?

  “Very fond, is it?” Fanny gazed at her through lowered lids, reminding Elizabeth of a lazy lizard contemplating an unwary fly. “I’d say the kiss you two shared the night of the Harvest Festival spoke of more than fondness.”

  “What?” Panic seized Elizabeth. She glanced from side to side, once more afraid of being overheard.

  “Lord Lathbury and I had repaired to the tree line ourselves. That demonstration by the Harvest Lord and the Corn Maiden had much affected Lathbury in an amorous way, shall we say?” A smile slowly spread over her face. “I did just see you two embracing before Matthew demanded all my attention.”

  “I . . . I didn’t dream anyone had seen us.” Elizabeth’s heart thudded so loudly she feared it could be heard.

  “Let us step over to Fitzroy’s for some tea.” Fanny peered at her. “You look as though you need something.” She linked their arms and pulled Elizabeth out into the cold October rain. “Oh, dear. This shower came up unexpectedly. Here, use my umbrella.”

  Fanny popped the umbrella up, and they stepped briskly across the street to Mr. Fitzroy’s tearoom. The warm, spicy smells of cakes and cookies immediately comforted Elizabeth, reviving her against the shock of Fanny’s revelation. The homey little shop sported four small tables, one blessedly free. Fanny steered them to it.

  Sinking gratefully into a wicker chair, Elizabeth clasped her hands together, staring at the spotless white tablecloth while she caught her breath.

  “Tea, Mr. Fitzroy, if you please.” Fanny nodded to the short, rotund man who hurried toward them. “The Lapsang souchong. And a plate of cakes against the chill, I think.”

  “Of course, my lady.” An amiable nod to Fanny, and Mr. Fitzroy bustled away.

  “Now,” Fanny said, leaning forward to keep their conversation private. “Open your budget, Elizabeth. You’ve grown fond of Lord Brack, have you not?”

  Swallowing painfully, as if she had ground glass in her throat, Elizabeth lowered her head and mumbled, “Yes.”

  “Then what is the matter, my dear?” She grasped her friend’s hands. “Even if he hasn’t declared himself formally, I am quite certain he has a great deal of regard and affection for you.” Her smile made her blue eyes twinkle. “I could see that much in the dark and at a distance.”

  “Oh, Fanny, it’s not that.” How could she make anyone understand her continuing love for Dickon? “I believe Lord Brack holds me in high esteem and perhaps even affection.” The memory of his passionate, hot body pressed against her naked flesh left no doubt of that whatsoever. The merest thought of that encounter at the festival turned her face red. “There is another impediment.”

  “Impediment?” Her friend’s delicate eyebrows rose alarmingly. “What do you mean by that?”

  Helplessly, Elizabeth stared at her, the events of that night replaying in her mind. The heat, the passion, the grand release that had sent her senses soaring until she had called him “Dickon.”

  “Indeed?” Fanny’s perfectly arched
eyebrows shot higher.

  Elizabeth nodded, her stomach clenched, her gaze lowered as she traced a faint tear in the tablecloth. She simply couldn’t tell Fanny what had really happened. Didn’t want to think of it, much less speak about it to another person.

  Although, perversely, Lady Stephen Tarkington might be the only woman of her acquaintance who would understand the circumstances and what had occurred that night. Her husband, Lord Stephen, had taken other women to his bed during their marriage. Such a practice was not unknown in their circles, but Stephen had been careless of it, and his wife had found out. So Fanny was much more a woman of the world than any of the others in their circle, save perhaps Jane. Maybe Fanny could tell her if such a humiliating experience was likely to be overcome. “I cannot stop thinking about Dickon.” She glanced at her hands, lying clenched in her lap. “Even when I’m with Lord Brack, I sometimes think of him.”

  With a shrug, Fanny sat back, and Mr. Fitzroy set cups, a fine bone china teapot, and the plate of cakes in the center of the table. “There you are, my lady.” He carefully retreated.

  Fanny added two lumps to her cup. “Milk?”

  “Yes, please.” Elizabeth added one lump, then drank gratefully. The hot strong tea touched a soothing chord deep within her.

  “That feeling will likely go away as soon as you have a new man in your bed.”

  Elizabeth’s hand jerked, the hot tea splashing over the rim into the saucer. “Fanny!”

  “Don’t be so missish, my dear. You are no stranger to the pleasures of the marriage bed any more than I.” A self-satisfied smirk crept over Fanny’s face. “You did your duty to Lieutenant Colonel Easton and mourned him properly. So your grieving should be past and done. He would not want you to linger in your sadness, but would wish you a new companion who could give you that physical joy again.”