What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “He did?” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or outraged.

  “I’m not to press you for an answer; however, he does wish to know.”

  “Then why does he not ask me himself?” If Matthew would play games, he would find her a willing participant, but likely without the result he desired.

  “Perhaps he will.” The girl shrugged. “Although he is much taken up with his other guests at the moment. My friend, Miss Broadman, had a ball given in her honor several nights ago in hopes she would discover a suitor to her liking. It could be my brother is introducing her to the eligible gentlemen with whom she is not already acquainted.” Lady Beatrice raised her eyebrows and glanced to the side. “Of course when last I saw him, he was conversing with Miss Gadhill.”

  “Which young lady was she?” Fanny tried to recall all the little butterflies in the drawing room.

  “The one in deep rose, with blond hair and—”

  “And a predatory gleam in her eyes when she looked at your brother.” The young lady had clung to Matthew’s arm as though she were a permanent attachment.

  “The very one.” Lady Beatrice sniffed. “I must confess I have never liked her. Her laugh is false.”

  Lady Beatrice was no fool. Fanny would have to beware of Miss Gadhill and hope to stay on Matthew’s sister’s good side. “Should we return to the house now? I do wish to have ample time to dress for dinner.”

  “By all means, my lady.”

  As they returned to the house, Fanny’s every step was plagued with doubt about Matthew’s intentions toward her, and even worse, hers toward him.

  * * *

  A quick tap on the door of Fanny’s room sent her into a flurry of activity. “Come in, Jane. I am almost ready.”

  “Why can you never manage to be ready on time, Fanny?” Jane strode into the room, straight to the fireplace. “Lord, these rooms are cold. I shall have to request another cover tonight.” She cut her gaze toward her sister-in-law. “Or find some other means to warm myself.”

  “Jane! You waste no time a’tall, do you?” Fanny fastened her gold and amethyst earrings, then slipped her matching necklace around her neck. “Come help me with the clasp and we can go down.”

  “The maid could have assisted you.” Her sister-in-law fussed even as she reached for the clasp.

  “Not when she’s already assisting ten other ladies as well. Does no one have their own lady’s maid anymore?” Fanny shook her hands, hoping the fluttering in the pit of her stomach would magically disappear when she stepped into the corridor.

  “Apparently not. Stand still or we will miss dinner all together.” Jane fussed with the clasp, pulling a stray strand of Fanny’s hair.

  “Ouch!”

  “If you’d stopped fidgeting that wouldn’t have happened. There.” Jane patted the back of her neck. “Ready to be ravished.”

  “What?” Fanny jumped back, perhaps because that had been her own thought.

  “Isn’t that why you’re here? I’m certain it is not for the grouse shooting tomorrow.”

  “Jane . . .” Touching the necklace’s teardrop-shaped pendant, Fanny gathered her courage. If anyone could give her good advice about Matthew, it was her friend. “What should I do? I believe he still wants to marry me, although to see him flirting with all those young ladies this afternoon, I have to say I’d not be as sure as I once was, except . . .”

  “Except?” Jane faced her, giving her full attention, albeit with a cynically arched brow.

  “He wants to know if I love him.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  Sighing heavily, Fanny grabbed a silk shawl and draped it over her shoulders, careful not to look at her friend. “He didn’t ask me. His sister did.”

  “Lady Beatrice?” Jane’s brows swooped up alarmingly. “How terribly odd. Why would she be interested in that question? She did not strike me as the kind of young lady who meddled in love affairs not her own.”

  “Her brother asked her to ask me.” Unwilling to meet Jane’s gaze any longer, Fanny hung her head.

  “And your answer?”

  “I told her I would inform Matthew of my answer myself.”

  “Well, I am pleased to see your wits are not completely addled,” Jane said, laughter bubbling up out of her. “Fanny, you really need to just marry the man and be done with it.”

  “But how can I be certain I won’t end up in another marriage I’ll live to regret making?” The misery of all her years as the poor, neglected wife of Stephen Tarkington returned with a force that overwhelmed her and she clutched the back of the vanity chair. Pain at the memory of the sympathetic eyes of the ton as they sought her out at parties and whispered whenever she went by washed over her. No matter how she tried, she could not banish the fear of walking by a crowd of people to hear the low, insistent whispers of “Poor Lady Lathbury. I hear he’s been seen with that opera singer . . . with Lady Margaret Seacole . . . with—”

  “You can never be completely sure of any man, short of the grave, my dear,” Jane broke in on her spiraling thoughts of impending tragedy. “However, for as much as I have observed, Lord Lathbury is as different from Stephen as two men could be with regard to their faithfulness. Lathbury has never enjoyed the reputation your late husband did, before or after his marriage.” She embraced Fanny, hugging her tightly. “I, who know full well Stephen’s perfidy toward you, say that if you believe you love Lord Lathbury, you must summon the courage to be brave and embrace it and him.” She retreated a step and peered deep into Fanny’s eyes. “Do not allow Stephen to rob you of happiness twice.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Under brilliant sunshine the next day, the shooting brake that conveyed Fanny, Jane, and the other women of the house party bumped cheerfully along the rough road before striking off across the fallow fields toward the shooting range, from which direction faint gunfire could be heard. The day had dawned clear and the ladies had been informed at breakfast about the picnic lunch arranged for them with the gentlemen in the afternoon. An outing Fanny approached with some trepidation.

  Last evening had proved frustrating in the extreme. While Matthew had spoken to her several times, he’d not singled her out in any special way to indicate he wished an answer to the question his sister had posed. Instead, he’d talked and laughed and flirted with every woman in the room. If she wished to be generous, this behavior could indicate he favored none of these women or girls, her included. However, generosity was furthest from her mind this morning, and she nursed a growing resentment toward her host. Had he brought her here to show her she’d missed her chance, his sister’s question notwithstanding? Either that or he was punishing her for telling him about her regrettable dalliance with Mr. Garrett by showing her two could play at that game. She’d not have thought that of Matthew, still what other explanation could there be for his behavior?

  The brake slowed in a grassy field near a small stand of tall oaks under which several tables had been arranged, complete with snowy white tablecloths, china service, and footmen running to and fro setting out various dishes. In the distance, a line of male figures, dark against the bright sun, made their way toward them. On the far end the tallest and broadest of the gentleman strode quicker than the rest, forcing his nearest companion to lengthen his strides to keep up. Matthew seemed in a hurry to greet the women of the party. Fanny grasped a footman’s hand and descended the brake, unsure for perhaps the first time in her life, what to expect from this man. Seizing Jane’s arm as soon as her feet touched the ground, she steered her toward a table on the far edge of the grouping.

  “Are you trying to hide, my dear? I seriously doubt it will work.” Jane seated herself on the cushioned chair and looked about expectantly. “I suspect Lord Lathbury will have designated a special place for you to sit with him. I am actually already claimed by Lord Kinellan. He sent me a charming note this morning, asking for my company at lunch.”

  “Kinellan? From Scotland?” Matthew’s particular friend
was drawing Jane from her side. Another example of loyalty, as when he guarded the door at the masquerade or his part in their tryst on the beach? Perhaps Matthew would spirit her away for another tête-à-tête. One in which she would give him a good piece of her mind. “Did you enjoy his company so much last evening?”

  “He is quite amusing, my dear.” Jane gave her an arch look. Her sister-in-law’s idea of amusing differed from most people’s. “And we have discovered a connection. His great-grandmother was a Munro who married a Graham, which is his clan. Quite a handsome man, all in all, don’t you think.” Jane gazed across the field as the man in question broke away from his companion, scanned the tables then strode purposefully toward her.

  If one looked with an objective eye, Lord Kinellan could, indeed, be called handsome. Wavy auburn hair, piercing blue eyes, and a chiseled profile Fanny would know immediately by his long straight nose. Tall, though not so tall as Matthew, broad shoulders, though not so deep through the chest. His legs bulged with muscles, likely from so much riding. Just like Matthew’s.

  Hoping no one had noticed her staring at Lord Kinellan, Fanny gazed around the picnic area, trying to locate Matthew. She could have sworn he’d been beside Kinellan before that gentleman had headed toward Jane. Then she spied him on the opposite side of the field, speaking with his butler. Likely making sure everything was proceeding smoothly. Somewhat mollified, she took her seat just as Lord Kinellan arrived.

  “Good afternoon, Lady John, Lady Stephen.” He nodded briefly to Fanny then turned a genuine smile on Jane. “Did you receive my note, my lady?”

  “I did, my lord. How thoughtful of you to ask to partner me at luncheon. We would be delighted to have you join us.” Jane’s smile managed to convey her willingness to be coaxed to a more secluded spot. Fanny had always marveled at the woman’s ability to convey more meaning without words than most people did with them.

  “I would like nothing more; however, I believe Lord Lathbury has arranged for us to sit with another of our kinsmen, Lord Selkirk.”

  “Cousin James is here?” Jane looked around avidly. “I did not see him last night.”

  “He arrived late this morning and joined us directly in the field.”

  “And how is he your kindred, Lord Kinellan?” Jane rose, suddenly intent as she took the earl’s arm. “You will excuse us, Fanny?”

  “Of course, Jane. My lord, so nice to see you once more.” She nodded pleasantly to the Scotsman, still unsure how much he knew about her escapades with Matthew.

  “And I you, my lady.” He nodded again before leading Jane toward a table some little way from her and seating her beside a gentleman with dark hair whose smile split his face when he saw her.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Stephen.”

  Fanny looked up into the pleasant face of Lady Skelton, a neighbor of Matthew’s to whom he’d introduced her last evening. “Good afternoon, my lady. We are having a wonderful day for a picnic, are we not?” Whenever in doubt, the weather was a comforting if dull topic of conversation.

  “Might I join you here?” The lady scarcely waited for Fanny’s nod before seating herself facing the rest of the company. “There is much more shade this far beneath the trees. One must always think of the ravages of sunlight, no matter how comforting the heat may feel.”

  Glad that her spencer covered her arms, Fanny gave thanks the tan she’d gotten in Brighton was finally fading, though her face remained the color of cream into which a dollop of coffee had been poured. She must try harder to avoid the sun.

  “Indeed, a lady’s complexion is the truest reflection of her refinement, don’t you think, Lady Stephen?” The countess’s attention seemed focused on her daughter, Lady Sarah, sitting two tables away.

  “It is certainly a mark of favor with many gentlemen.” Fanny searched the tables hoping to discover where Matthew had again hid himself. “Some I know do not hold it as an irreparable barrier to marriage if a lady is a little tanned.”

  “The less discerning gentlemen, perhaps. I have been extremely careful to keep my daughter’s complexion as milky white as the day she was born.” Lady Skelton nodded toward Lady Sarah, who had just smiled a greeting into the face of Lord Lathbury.

  Fanny’s heart skipped a beat as he seated himself next to the girl, chatting with her as though he’d known her all his life. She gripped her napkin in her hand, then forced herself to calm. Lady Beatrice had said Lady Sarah was her best friend. Presumably, Matthew had known the lady most of his life as well. Slowly exhaling, Fanny loosened her grip on the square of linen she’d been wringing.

  “They will make an excellent couple, do you not think, Lady Stephen?” The countess nodded toward her daughter, who chose that moment to lean toward Matthew, laughing at some private jest.

  “Is Lady Sarah not a trifle young for Lord Lathbury?” Fanny prayed her panic didn’t show in her voice.

  “Why would you say that?” Lady Skelton turned wide eyes on Fanny. “He’s but one and thirty. A perfect difference in age I would say, for he is old enough to have gotten over the wildness of youth. And while she may be a little behind him in years, I have always believed a woman ripens best when married to a man who will steady her, guide her into a maturity of his own fashioning. I suspect Lord Lathbury has finally arrived at that same conclusion.”

  Swallowing hard, Fanny breathed slowly, trying her best to release the rancor building within her in some way other than becoming a spectacle at a picnic. This woman wrongly assumed Matthew would offer for Lady Sarah in order to mold the girl into the wife he wanted. Well, there might be such men in the world, but the Matthew she knew was not one of them. Opening her mouth to suggest that very thing, a voice of caution whispered in her ear and she paused. Was this the Matthew she knew, or thought she knew? Or had he grown too frustrated with her and turned to a more malleable woman?

  “Lord Lathbury would be fortunate to have her.” The proud mother smiled and nodded at the couple, just as Matthew rose and raised Lady Sarah’s hand to his lips.

  “Yes, I do see your point, Lady Skelton,” Fanny said, sending the woman a cool, appraising look. “However, a woman already mature, especially one who had been widowed, say, could be an immediate asset to a man of Lord Lathbury’s stature. She could step into the role of wife, chatelaine, and mother in an instant. Do you not agree?” Fanny arched her neck and fought not to smile at Lady Skelton’s livid face. “There is the matter of the earl needing an heir. An untried virgin is a chancy thing where getting children are concerned. But a woman who already has a child would be much more apt to produce more of them, wouldn’t you say?”

  “My dear countess, Lady Stephen.” Matthew stepped toward them, making his bow, his gaze darting between the two of them as if assessing the situation. “I had hoped to speak to you both before the shooting resumed. I was just saying to your daughter, Lady Skelton, that I hoped she would honor me with the first dance this evening.”

  Eyes gleaming in triumph, Lady Skelton leaned toward the earl. “And did she agree to that dance, my lord?”

  “She did indeed, my lady.”

  Fanny bit her lips until she tasted blood, but she refused to make a sound. That would only give the wretched woman and her daughter the greater victory over her.

  Matthew continued to smile at them, but peered closer at Fanny’s face. “Are you quite all right, Lady Stephen?”

  Breathe. She must remain in control of herself even as she fled this disastrous scene. “I am well, my lord, save for a sudden headache. I believe I shall ask to return to the house ahead of the others. I would not wish to spoil anyone else’s outing.”

  “I am sorry to hear this, my lady. May I escort you to the brake? I’ll instruct the driver to return you as quickly as possible.” His gaze held a modicum of concern and perhaps a flicker of triumph.

  “There is no need, my lord.” Fanny rose, straightening her deep emerald spencer and smoothing her green muslin gown. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes.

  “B
ut I insist.” The hard edge to his voice brought her head up. “If you will excuse us, my lady?” He dipped his head curtly in the direction of Lady Skelton, then grasped Fanny’s elbow. She scarcely had a moment to make a partial curtsy before he propelled her not toward the field where the conveyance stood, but into the stand of trees behind them.

  He continued to march her away from the picnic spot, away from eavesdroppers who might hear his devastating words as he told her he was now preparing to marry Lady Sarah. Well, if he wanted a simpering young fool for a wife, it was just as well she had not accepted him earlier this summer. It would have been the disaster she’d been trying to avoid. What did it matter that her heart was breaking?

  Suddenly, they burst through the stand of trees into a meadow filled with sunshine and birdsong. He’d dragged her all the way out here just to throw it in her face that he didn’t want her any longer. Well, she’d not give him the pleasure of seeing his words affect her. No, by God. She’d rather die than cry in front of him. Blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay, she pulled her elbow from his grasp. “Let me go.”

  “If you wish it, my lady, I will do so.”

  She gasped, whirling around to face him. “What?”

  “I have come to tell you, Fanny, if you truly do not wish to marry me, I will cease my pursuit of you.”

  In the deadly calm that followed his words, Fanny heard her heart break. “I see. You no longer want me.” Pain exploded in her chest, forcing out the tears she’d been trying so desperately to control. “You wish to marry Lady Sarah instead.”

  He jerked her toward him. “You’re a damned fool if you think that.”

  Throat choked with tears, she could scarcely understand him, scarcely speak. “What?”

  “I have waited over ten years to marry you, Fanny. Do you honestly think I would throw that over in a day for a scatterbrained child?” His harsh tone cut through the fog that had enveloped her brain. “Do you truly think me so faithless?”