What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Why have I never heard of any of this?” The demanding tone in her sister-in-law’s voice made Fanny want to laugh.

  “God knows, Lavinia. Everyone else did. Except for his affair with Selena. In that instance Stephen exercised some discretion at least. Perhaps he believed if I found out I would not accept it quietly as I had the others. I might not have ever known of that dalliance except—”

  Try as she might the memory of that night would always haunt her. Lying in their bed, her husband on top of her, riding her to a fiercely passionate conclusion, only to call out the wrong woman’s name . . . Shaking her head to clear the image from her mind, Fanny drew a deep breath.

  “Except what?”

  “Except for a chance mention of her name. When the truth came out, I was hurt and angry enough to exact my own revenge on Stephen. Lord Lathbury had shown great interest in me before my marriage. I managed to kindle those feelings once more.” Would that she could do so again. “We saw one another for almost four months; however, my conscience wouldn’t let me continue the affair when he wished us to run away together and I broke it off. After I returned to Stephen, I discovered I was increasing and simply assumed the child was his. Until last month when I saw Ella and Lathbury together.”

  “Does Lord Lathbury know?” Her sister-in-law’s words dripped ice.

  “Yes.”

  “But he does not wish to marry the mother of his child?” The marchioness’s frown transformed her face into a gargoyle’s.

  “He was incensed that I hadn’t told him about her, even though I swore I didn’t know. We quarreled and I have not heard a word from him since that day, so I assume he has done with me, despite his connection to Ella.” Drained by the whole dismal recitation, Fanny sank onto the chaise. If she never had to rise again she’d be delighted.

  “That at least is a blessing.” Lavinia’s pronouncement brought Fanny’s head back up. “You can never marry Lord Lathbury, Frances. Do you not see that? If you and Ella lived with the man it would be inevitable that people would see them together and realize what you had done. The entire Tarkington family’s reputation would be irreparably soiled. It is only by the grace of God no one has made the connection yet.” The marchioness’s eyes bore into Fanny. “We will not allow your misbehavior to ruin Theale, to make him and Stephen a laughingstock before the whole ton.”

  Fanny winced. Lady Lathbury had told her the matter was of little consequence. She’d doubted it at the time, but had grown to hope it was true, as that would have made her marriage to Matthew much easier.

  Lavinia’s outrage at the situation, however, was completely genuine. Matthew’s mother must have lied, as she had suspected, in order to get her to agree to marry him. By moving Ella into the country, she must have hoped the prying eyes of Society’s gossips would not see the resemblance. At least now it seemed a moot point. Matthew had broken with her, likely for good.

  Shaking off the dread that had taken hold of her, Fanny stared calmly back at her sister-in-law. Life for her in the Theale household from now on would be an unmitigated hell.

  “Mark my words, Frances, Theale will hear of this outrage. Such a scandal has never touched our family and for you to do such a thing is unconscionable.” Lavinia nodded so violently her cap came askew. She turned, heading for the doorway with a determined walk. “I tremble to think what Theale will do.”

  “Indeed, so do I when he hears.” Spoiling to give the woman her comeuppance, Fanny tried to make her voice as sympathetic as possible. “He has been so . . . disturbed recently.”

  Her sister-in-law stopped and turned slowly around, her jaw clenched.

  “Even the servants have spoken about his outbursts of anger and”—she hushed her voice—“other things.” She shook her head. “I daresay something like this might unhinge him completely.”

  The color drained from Lavinia’s face. She stared at Fanny, wringing her hands, then drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I had best get back to making arrangements for the family to gather here during the holidays.” Lavinia backed toward the door. “It is rather inconvenient to spend it here where we have fewer rooms than at the estate in Northumberland; however, I will make accommodations.” The marchioness sped out of the doorway, her heels clacking down the corridor until the sound was finally lost.

  Fanny sat back in her seat, all her bravado fled. Tears trickled down her face and she let them fall. She would never marry Matthew now, that much was certain. Despite his mother’s claims to the contrary, infidelity, and especially infidelity that resulted in a child not of her husband’s body, must be an abomination. His own absence these past weeks proved he no longer wished to have anything to do with her. He would not risk the scandal their alliance would surely create.

  Lavinia certainly believed disgrace was imminent. Fanny herself didn’t recall hearing such things spoken of in ton circles, but then she’d paid less attention to gossip unless it concerned her own reputation. She’d been much more intent on the next on-dit that linked Stephen’s name to another woman rather than one about what another woman was doing to her husband. Nevertheless, what she’d done had been a sin in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the ton. Her only doubt, in the end, was who would sit in stricter judgment of her.

  CHAPTER 23

  As his valet put his cases down in the small dressing room adjoining the bedroom, Matthew stripped off his gloves, uneasy to be back in Wrotham. He’d been in two minds about attending Lady Cavendish and Wrotham’s wedding in the first place. They were Fanny’s friends more so than his, although his invitation had been addressed to him alone. He couldn’t assume Fanny had told her friends about their estrangement, although if they had been informed it had not been reflected in his lodgings. Lyttlefield Park apparently housed friends of the bride and groom, while Wrotham Hall accommodated their family members. Despite that assignment, he’d arrived determined to be pleasant no matter what.

  He should not have come at all, but he’d not been able to resist the chance to see Fanny again. His head had cooled long since the day he’d strode out of the receiving room at Theale House, incensed at her confession. Still, her absence from his life had made it a merry hell. He missed her every day, just as before, but would not allow himself to entertain the idea of seeing her again. Her betrayal bit deep into his soul, in a place reason couldn’t reach. Once or twice he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her about London—shopping or the like, but had forced himself to ignore her. As a result, he’d been moody and ill-tempered to the staff at his town house, to members at his club, even to his family when they arrived in London for the Little Season. His refusal to accompany them to ton events had infuriated Beatrice and grieved his mother. But he’d feared a chance encounter with Fanny would shake his resolve.

  Therefore, he didn’t understand at all what he was doing in Kent, where he certainly would see her. Had that been the plan in his heart ever since he’d received the invitation? The urge to come to the wedding had been undeniable. Did that mean he was ready to talk with her? To take her back? Would she have him at this point? Never certain about anything regarding Fanny, Matthew sent up a prayer for a clear head and a steady hand.

  Dinner that night was a lively event. Wedding guests and family had converged on Wrotham with a vengeance, causing some room mishaps in both houses. From Lord Brack he understood that his sister Lady Georgina had actually been moved from her room at Lyttlefield Park, where she’d resided for some time, to share a room with her brother. Upon hearing that, Lady Cavendish had instead proposed she give up her chamber to Lady Georgina and move into her soon-to-be-husband’s suite. It had all been sorted out eventually, making for an amusing story and Wrotham’s excellent wine and spirits had flowed well into the night. Matthew hadn’t been able to speak to Fanny, although he’d admired her from the far end of the table.

  Dressed in her favorite green, this time an emerald velvet that shone richly in the candlelight, she had laughed and talked with a handsome young man Matthew d
idn’t know. Tinges of the green monster rose in him, jealous of the man’s close proximity to Fanny. He’d better simply admit he was still besotted with the woman and be done with it. His heart beat madly whenever he gazed at her and any resolve he’d maintained in London had long crumbled. Best make his peace with her either tonight or before the service in the morning.

  Having come to this conclusion, he allowed the evening’s jocularity to raise his spirits and give him hope of a civil meeting between them on the morrow. What he wanted to say to her, however, still eluded him.

  Next morning, turned out in a dark blue square-cut jacket, striped waistcoat, and pale gray trousers, Matthew stood in front of the tiny St. George’s church in Wrotham village, gazing about for someone to talk to before heading into the church. Everyone hurried about, seeming bent on duties to which he was not privy, leaving him literally the odd man out in the proceedings. Almost of a mind to take his seat inside, Matthew paused as a carriage swept up before the door. Moments later Lady Georgina, Lady John, and Fanny alighted all chattering and laughing together.

  The pang of remorse that shot through his heart made him wince. Beautiful as always, in a leaf green pelisse, she made every reason he should still be angry with her fly out of his head, as he’d known she would. He’d wanted to hold on to his anger, for not being told of her pregnancy, or about the existence of his daughter for the past six years had hurt abominably. Whether or not he believed she had not known seemed irrelevant. She should have realized it was a possibility from the beginning and informed him. Seeing her now, well, the need for her to admit she’d been wrong seemed childish. He started toward her, but she had turned together with her friends and headed into the church. No matter, he’d speak with her after the ceremony. A happy time when they might set their differences straight and look toward the future once more.

  * * *

  Wedding guests poured out of St. George’s as though fleeing a dragon, though the cause for the exodus was thankfully much less dire. Mrs. Easton, apparently overcome by emotion at the wedding, had swooned. While she was being seen to by her group of friends, Matthew had taken charge and shepherded out as many wedding guests as he could, giving the tiny group huddled around Mrs. Easton the chance to revive her. The woman likely needed a bit of rest and some fresh air to set her to rights. Ladies, in his experience, swooned often and usually at the most inappropriate times.

  Most of Lady Wrotham’s family in attendance had left in their carriages while the local parishioners had set out on foot toward Wrotham Hall for the extravagant wedding breakfast prepared there. Matthew, however, elected to remain until Fanny emerged. Perhaps she would agree to ride back to Wrotham with him.

  “I must say I did not expect to see you here today, Matthew.”

  He spun around to encounter hard blue eyes gazing at him from Fanny’s unsmiling face. “Fanny. I . . . I’d hoped to see you here.”

  “You did? I might ask why.” The harsh planes of her face retained their beauty, though it was a terrible beauty all the same. “A trip to Kent seems rather a lot of trouble to go to to see me when you could have made a ten-minute carriage ride to call on me in London.” Her mouth hardened. “Why are you here, Matthew?”

  “I wanted to know how you were doing. You and Ella.”

  Her delicate eyebrows swooping up, Fanny laughed. The shrill sound sent a shudder down his back. “After you abandoned us, you mean? Fine, we are just fine. Are you satisfied? I wish you a pleasant journey all the way back to London.” She turned on her heel.

  “Fanny.” He grasped her elbow, spinning her back to him a bit more forcefully than he’d intended. The woman could infuriate him more than anyone of his acquaintance and still he wanted her. Proof of his love for her if ever there was one.

  “I will ask you to release me before I cause a scene. One more sensational scene today will likely go unremarked, but one never knows. You might get the reputation you deserve after all.”

  “I had no idea my company was now so abhorrent to you.” Releasing her arm, Matthew stepped back, hands raised. “Please forgive the mistake. It will not be repeated.” Clenching his teeth to prevent railing at her even more, Matthew bowed and strode off in the direction of his carriage.

  A quick trip back to Lyttlefield Park and a hasty retreat before the situation became even uglier. What had turned Fanny so completely against him? True, he’d not attempted to visit her in the past month, but after that confession at Theale House, how could she think he’d immediately wish to see her again? Neither had she attempted any contact with him during the ensuing six weeks. Was there something other than his lack of attendance on her mind? Had she perhaps had another offer of marriage and intended to accept it and so was breaking with him for once and all? Although it was early afternoon, by the time he could be packed, it would be too dark to leave. He would remain overnight and discover the truth behind her scorn if he could before leaving tomorrow. Forever.

  * * *

  Heart thumping all the way back to Charlotte’s carriage, Fanny flung herself into the conveyance and burst into tears.

  “Fanny! My dear, what has happened?” Elizabeth, who had revived, leaned forward and grabbed her hands.

  “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Putting her arms around Fanny’s shoulders, Georgina hugged her tightly.

  “My dear, was that Lord Lathbury?” Jane peered out the window. “What has he done?”

  “Nothing.” Wiping at her cheeks, Fanny tried to stem the flow, but the frustration of weeks of waiting for Matthew to contact her had built to a boiling point. His cavalier attitude just now had pushed her to goad him into that ill-considered action and now he would likely never speak to her again.

  “This hardly seems nothing, Fanny. Here.” Jane passed her a handkerchief. “He must have done something.”

  “We were to be married.”

  “What? How splendid, Fanny.” Georgie squeezed her tighter.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Elizabeth gave her a chastened look. “I suspected this would happen after Brighton.”

  “You said ‘were to be married.’ ” Jane sat back on the black leather seat. “Does that mean he’s jilted you?”

  “I wouldn’t say jilt, for it was never properly announced; however, he apparently has no plans to marry me, because I picked a quarrel with him a few minutes ago. Now he’d rather die than marry me.” Sobs tore from her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Why pick a quarrel with him in the first place, Fanny?” Jane frowned, still looking directly at her. “If you wanted to marry him, you should have avoided a quarrel, at least until you were married.”

  “I don’t know. It seems so stupid now. But he hadn’t called or written for almost six weeks and then he showed up here . . .” What had come over her? All she’d wanted to do when she’d seen him standing outside before the wedding was rail at him for not calling on her or even inquiring about Ella. She was his daughter and he couldn’t trouble himself at all about her welfare. She’d told him the truth about Ella. If he couldn’t accept that she didn’t know her parentage until recently, then he needed to stay away from them. But that’s not what she wanted either. Their predicament concerning Ella’s parentage had also slipped her mind. Of course she couldn’t marry Matthew, though she might die right here to think so.

  Something was wrong with her. Her head had swirled in a muddle so she’d had to search and search to find Elizabeth’s coat. It had slid under the pew when they were trying to revive her and by the time she’d retrieved it she’d come upon Elizabeth confessing to Jane that she was increasing. That explained Elizabeth’s peculiar behavior in London and the reason for asking her help with Lord Brack, assuming he was the father.

  She couldn’t imagine who else it could be. Elizabeth hadn’t looked at another man since she’d made Lord Brack’s acquaintance in August. The way they’d kissed the night of the festival should have made it obvious, but she and Matthew had been quite occupied at the time to
be gazing and remarking about the other people they’d stumbled over that night.

  That night had been strange beyond belief. Charlotte and Nash, Elizabeth and Lord Brack, she and Matthew had all been wildly passionate after the crowning. The only time Elizabeth and Brack had indulged according to what she’d told Jane. Would Charlotte also catch with child that quickly? Thank goodness she’d been drinking her tea at the time. Else she might have . . .

  “No.” It wasn’t possible. Not like last time when she’d not taken the tea toward the end. She hadn’t stopped drinking it this time until two weeks after the last time she’d seen Matthew.

  “What do you mean by ‘no,’ dear?” Jane’s eyes were bright as a hawk’s.

  The woman was worse than a bird dog after a scent.

  “Lord Lathbury has certainly showed up here. What is it you would deny?”

  Fanny stared at her, trying hard to remember the last time she’d had her courses. She’d been so upset the past weeks that she’d not really paid attention to such things. There were other things she had noticed, however. A tiredness every morning when she awoke, as though she hadn’t slept well. Sudden bouts of heat, like the one Elizabeth had had in church, where her head felt like a flame. Soreness in her breasts she’d thought caused by her courses, though her courses, she now realized, hadn’t come on her since before her last journey to Kent. “My folly,” she answered at last. “I may have driven Matthew away for good when I need him more than ever.”

  “Shall I speak to him this evening, Fanny?” Georgie laid her head on Fanny’s shoulder once more. “I have managed in the past few months to help bring Charlotte and Nash together when they certainly seemed at odds with one another.”

  “Georgie, I do not think this is the time for such . . . measures.” Elizabeth spoke up, shooting Fanny a worried look. “You look very pale, my dear. Are you sure you are all right?”