What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  Matthew stared at the cracked gray plaster on the ceiling, then shook his head. “I want us to have a proper wedding, with the banns read. Sometime early in the new year.”

  “But where will I live until then?” The realization hit that she no longer had a place at Theale’s house where she’d lived for close to eight years. “We must journey to Copsale tomorrow and explain all to my cousin. She will likely take us in for the few weeks before we marry.”

  “Absolutely not.” He grasped her around the shoulders as though she might disappear on the spot. “You will journey with me to Hunter’s Cross and there remain, ever after.”

  “Won’t your mother object?” Lady Lathbury had been friendly toward her even after she learned of Ella’s parentage; however, she could not help but wonder how the lady would react to her future daughter-in-law’s moving into her home while she was still mistress of it.

  “Once she hears the tale of this day, I seriously doubt it. And she has told me she approves of you becoming my wife. She believes us well matched.” He squeezed her to him. “So do I.”

  “And so do I.” Drowsily, she snuggled against him. “I am truly glad to hear of her approval. After these past days I need no more discord in my life.”

  “Only harmony from now on, sweetheart, I promise.”

  A new life with a true love. Apparently happy endings did come true, if only you had the good sense to see them and accept them. “Yes, my love. Oh, yes.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Backed by a small army of four strapping footmen, a grim-faced Matthew arrived at Theale House and knocked at the door.

  After Fanny’s ordeal, he had ensconced her at Hunt House, along with Ella and a hastily summoned Jane, to allow her and his daughter to recover their strength before journeying on to Hunter’s Cross. There they would stay until the wedding. Today, he’d come to retrieve her and Ella’s trunks. He expected trouble, but nothing he and four other fit men couldn’t handle.

  The door opened a crack, revealing a wary butler who kept glancing over his shoulder.

  “I am Lord Lathbury,” Matthew intoned, using his deepest voice. “I have come for Lady Stephen’s and Miss Ella’s belongings.” He peered at the quivering man until he at last opened his mouth.

  “You may not enter, my lord.” The little man whispered so low Matthew had to lean forward to catch the words.

  “What do you mean I ‘may not enter’?” He drew himself up to his full height, now towering over the cowering butler.

  The man craned his head back to look up at Matthew. “Lord Theale has given instructions you are not to enter Theale House, my lord.”

  “Has he indeed?” Well, they would see about that.

  With a nod to his footmen, none of whom were shorter than six-foot-one, Matthew pushed his way into the entry hall, his men following behind in a flying wedge, like so many soldiers going into battle. “Where is your master?”

  The stunned butler had fallen back before them, his back now pressed against the wall. “I’m certain I do not know, my lord. His lordship roams the house these days. It’s difficult to say where he might be at any given moment.”

  What the devil did that mean? With a sharp glance at the manservant, Matthew surged forward to the staircase. “Take me to Lady Stephen’s chamber or I will find it for myself.”

  “Oh, no you won’t.” The cracked, high-pitched voice from above jerked Matthew’s attention up to the first landing. Lord Theale stood, his excellently cut coat strangely askew, as though he’d been interrupted while dressing, belying the man’s reputation of not stirring until he was impeccably dressed. “You are banned from this house, Lathbury. Defiler of wives.” His voice rose in a shriek. “Spawn of the devil.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at the footmen, eyes wide and murmuring to one another, Matthew firmed his lips. “Steady, men.” He’d never led troops into battle, but it seemed there might be a first time. “I want nothing but the property that belongs to my betrothed, Theale. Have her trunks and Ella’s brought down and we will retire peacefully.”

  “You’ll never take them. Never take them!” Brandishing an imaginary sword, Theale ran down the steps toward Matthew.

  Aghast at this strange behavior, yet confident the man would stop when he reached the first step, Matthew stood firm, though the peer’s disheveled appearance and erratic behavior filled him with uneasiness. Surely the man would—

  Theale reached the bottom step and ploughed straight into Matthew, knocking him back into the footmen close behind him. He stumbled, but the men kept him standing.

  “Noyes, call for reinforcements,” Theale shouted, picking himself up off the stairs, and finally adjusting his coat.

  The butler scurried away.

  “Now you’ll get what’s coming to you, you blackguard. This is for Stephen.” Theale pulled his arm back for a blow.

  Matthew was a longtime patron of Jackson’s boxing saloon, often training at the hands of Jackson himself. That training now took over. When Theale began his swing, Matthew blocked the blow, then jabbed his fist into the marquess’s snarling face.

  With a loud groan, the man fell back onto the steps, staring up at Matthew, an utterly shocked expression on his face.

  At that moment, Noyes arrived with every footman, groom, and stable boy the marquess employed.

  Shaking his hand, Matthew signaled his men to go. Theale’s belligerent behavior was completely uncharacteristic of the man, which was troubling. “I will return, Theale, to retrieve Fanny’s things.”

  “And I’ll not give you quarter then either, Lathbury.” Theale laughed as he sat up, wiping at the blood trickling from his nose.

  Noyes ran forward to assist his master to stand.

  “Have her trunks ready and we won’t have to repeat this scene.” Despite the satisfaction of finally planting the odious man a facer, his manner still seemed unusual. Perhaps it was time Matthew paid a call on Theale’s heir, Craighaven.

  “Hah. Got you on the run, have I? I’ll have a go at you again if you come back.”

  “I’ll be back,” Matthew spoke under his breath. “And I guarantee you will not like it when I do.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Matthew once again knocked on the door of Theale House, although this time he was accompanied by a single man.

  Noyes opened the door, his face registering alarm at seeing Matthew. “Lord Lathbury. Please, my lord. I cannot allow you to pass.”

  “You won’t deny me entry, will you, Noyes?” Craighaven stepped from behind Matthew, his tone even but firm.

  “Lord Craighaven.” Noyes made a full bow to his master’s heir. “Please my lord, come in.”

  Pushing past the butler, Craighaven crossed the threshold into the entrance hall, Matthew following closely behind. “Where is my father?”

  “I believe he is in his study, my lord.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” Craighaven glanced at Matthew. “This way, Lathbury.”

  “But, my lord . . .” Noyes hurried after them as Craighaven started up the stairs. “His lordship has expressly forbidden—”

  Craighaven threw up a hand in dismissal. “I will take care of the matter, Noyes. Thank you.” They continued up the stairs to the first landing and turned left. “It’s just this way.” His voice betrayed his annoyance with these dealings, yet the man had agreed to confront his father. He stopped before a familiar door. “Here.”

  Lord Theale sat behind the desk, in his overlarge chair, writing a letter. He did not look up when they entered, and when they reached the desk, Matthew discovered the letter was merely a series of doodles—looping swirls, squares stacked upon squares, never-ending spirals.

  “Father.”

  At his son’s voice, the marquess finally raised his head. “Craighaven. Have you come for the holidays after all?”

  “I live here, Father. Remember? With you and Mother. I gave up my bachelor apartments a year ago whe
n I married.” His son’s patient voice told Matthew this conversation had taken place before. Perhaps many times.

  “Yes, quite right. Must have slipped my mind.” Theale glanced at Matthew and his face transformed into a snarl. “What is that traitor doing in my house? I’ll have Noyes’s guts for garters.”

  “He is here with me, Father. I have spoken with Lord Lathbury, who has informed me of your recent behavior regarding Aunt Frances.” Craighaven firmed his mouth and continued. “He has shown me proof that you tried to have her and Cousin Ella murdered.”

  “Lies, all lies.” The marquess reared back in his chair. “He cuckolded your uncle. Do you think he will speak truth to you?”

  “I have spoken the truth, Lord Theale.” Matthew stared at the man with abject loathing. “I informed your son about our meeting here and what you did to Fanny and Ella.”

  “Lies.”

  “I have proof.”

  Theale sat up so quickly his chair scooted back across the Aubusson carpet. “What proof ?”

  Reaching into his jacket, Matthew withdrew a sheet of paper. “An affidavit, sworn before the magistrate in Southwater and signed by Davies, attesting to the fact that you instructed him to abandon Fanny and Ella along the road and hire men to set upon them and murder them.” Clenching his fist, and itching to ram it into Theale’s face again, he breathed deeply and instead held the sheet up for Theale to see. “I think you will need to hire another coachman. In return for this sworn statement, I persuaded the magistrate to commute Davies’s sentence of death. He’s currently in Newgate awaiting transportation. The locals are still searching for the three ruffians who tried to seize them.”

  Nonchalantly Theale waved the paper away. “That has nothing to do with me. Davies lied to save his own skin.”

  “The magistrate thought him truthful enough to issue this.” Matthew slipped the document back into his pocket lest Theale get ideas about snatching and burning it too.

  “Father, attempted murder is a felony.” Craighaven had paled, although he’d turned as white as the affidavit when Matthew had shown it to him. “Should Lathbury or Aunt Frances bring suit against you, you could hang. You should be grateful they have chosen not to do so.”

  “For the moment.” Matthew shot that caveat in quickly.

  “Pah.” Theale gave his son a disgusted look. “Thought I raised a man not a milksop.”

  “A man who will see reason is no less of a man.” Of course, as far as Matthew could tell, reason and Lord Theale seemed to have parted company some time ago. “You are fortunate, my lord, that the attainder of corruption of blood was abolished last year. Had I brought suit and you’d been convicted under that, your titles and properties would have been forfeited to the Crown after you were hanged. Now you will only lose your life.” He stared straight into Theale’s eyes. “If I bring suit against you.”

  “Which Lathbury has promised not to do,” Craighaven broke in, “if you cease to persecute Aunt Frances and Cousin Ella.” Now his son’s gaze bored into Theale’s eyes with deathly intent. “I have given him my word you will. Do I now have yours?”

  With a deeply frowning countenance, Theale returned Matthew’s stare. “You and she dishonored my family.”

  “As your brother did her.” Not willing to give an inch, Matthew raised his head. “He is dead and we will be married shortly. Let this matter end now. For if anything should happen to Fanny or Ella, if you attempt the same dastardly actions against them, I will pursue not only you, but your entire family as well. Craighaven will immediately undergo my challenge, and I think you know my reputation with a pistol.”

  Giving a short nod, Theale swallowed hard.

  “I will make sure, my lord, it will not come to that.” Craighaven had paled again. The gentleman surely needed to disguise his feelings better.

  Perhaps his father’s estimation of milksop had not been far off the mark.

  Stepping to the door, Craighaven called for Noyes, who appeared amazingly quickly. “Please have Aunt Frances’s and Cousin Ella’s trunks brought to the entrance hall. Lord Lathbury will take charge of them.”

  The butler gave a quick glance to his master.

  Theale paused, then nodded.

  “Very good, my lord.” The relief in the man’s voice echoed that in Matthew’s mind.

  “I will take my leave of you then, Craighaven, Theale.” Matthew bowed and shot a final angry glance at Theale. “I pray we do not meet again under such circumstances.” Turning on his heel, he strode quickly from the room, a huge weight rolling off his shoulders, although he’d continue to be vigilant for a while as far as Fanny and Ella’s safety was concerned. Likely until he read Theale’s obituary in the Times.

  His and Fanny’s path to love had been difficult in the extreme and he would do everything in his power to safeguard his new-made family for as long as they both should live.

  EPILOGUE

  The blustery, cold month of January proved a busy one for Fanny and Matthew.

  After the final ordeal wresting her belongings from Theale’s hands, they had arrived at Hunter’s Cross in good time to celebrate a quiet Christmas with Lady Lathbury, Lady Beatrice, and his younger sisters, Lady Eugenie and Lady Marianne, who took to Ella as another sister with open arms.

  After the holidays, both she and Ella had settled quickly into a routine of work and play at Hunter’s Cross. Ella joined Matthew’s sisters in the schoolroom, and had taken to their governess, Miss Gleeson, instantly. The girl’s studies had since gone at a clipping pace.

  Fanny too had taken on lessons in household management for Hunter’s Cross from her future mother-in-law, who wished to leave the manor house in good hands when she removed to the much smaller dowager house, situated a quarter of a mile away. Both Fanny and Matthew had urged Lady Lathbury to remain with them at Hunter’s Cross, but the lady had been firm, as was her wont in most things.

  “My dear,” Lady Lathbury had said one afternoon over tea, “once you marry Rowley you will be mistress of his home. There is not room for two of us. You will need to find your footing by yourself and I will give you that chance from the beginning. Rowley’s grandmother did not do me that courtesy and I eventually became resentful of her presence in what should have been my house. I will not make that mistake with you.”

  “I thank you for that, my lady, but I will hate to feel I have turned you out of your home.” Fanny poured more milk into her teacup. Why it should taste so good when before she abhorred it was an ever-present mystery.

  “Nonsense. I am going of my own accord and am quite looking forward to the extra time I shall have for visiting and my charity work. I daresay I may even travel once you are returned from your wedding trip.” The countess’s eyes sparkled. “Take care you enjoy yourself, for once you return there will be work to be done.”

  “I believe I can guarantee a glorious time on our trip to Paris, Mother.” Matthew caught Fanny’s eye and winked at her.

  “If it is more ‘glorious’ than your time spent here, Rowley, I shall expect reports in the papers of scandalous doings in the streets of the city.” Lady Lathbury stared first at Matthew, then even more sternly at Fanny.

  Matthew’s mouth twitched and Fanny’s cheeks heated at the censure.

  They had promised to wait to be intimate again until after the wedding. Daily close proximity, however, had managed to break their resolve several times. The countess, apparently, was aware of their transgressions here, although she may not have been privy to the information that when they had attended Elizabeth and Lord Brack’s wedding last week, they had spent the two nights in London in each other’s arms. Matthew had assured her the servants at Hunt House were entirely discreet.

  “It’s only one more week until the wedding.” Matthew sighed, sending Fanny a long-suffering look.

  “For which I am eternally grateful, Rowley, as you do not seem to know the meaning of the word ‘restraint. ’ ” Lady Lathbury fixed him with a stern eye, though her mouth see
med to tremble as well.

  * * *

  Fanny’s wedding day, the last day of January, dawned cold and crisp. A sprinkle of snow had fallen overnight, giving the landscape the look of a fairy cake. A fitting setting for her fairy-tale ending. All her friends had come to see her and Matthew wed, two of them bringing new husbands as well. Jane had asked to include Lord Sinclair in her invitation, with whom, Charlotte had whispered the night before the wedding, she’d declared a truce. She and the other members of the Widows’ Club speculated excitedly about whether or not this meant Jane had renounced her vow not to marry again.

  A single person of the party seemed decidedly petulant. Lord Kinellan had arrived from Scotland to stand up with Matthew. Looking dashing and elegant in his black tailcoat and gray silk waistcoat, Kinellan seemed out of sorts from the moment he arrived. Fanny wasn’t sure where the issue lay, with Matthew’s giving up his bachelorhood or some other perhaps more personal reason. She’d asked Matthew to ferret it out of him. “Do try to cheer him up, my dear. I would like my wedding attended by happy people.”

  Despite all the trials and tribulations it had taken to finally get to her wedding day, Fanny had to admit afterward that the ceremony had gone beautifully. The church had glowed with candlelight, fragrant with hothouse flowers from Hunter’s Cross. Fanny’s smile had stretched across her face and she had glowed with happiness as she and Matthew said their vows before the largest wedding party the vicar said he had ever seen. With her and Matthew’s friends, his mother and sisters and Ella in attendance, the church was filled much fuller than usual. Whatever Matthew had said to Kinellan, it seemed to have worked, for he smiled and wished her happy after the ceremony along with the rest of the throng.

  The only one of the original widows noticeably without a partner was Georgina. Resplendent in fashionable new gowns, and accompanied by a lady’s maid and her King Charles spaniel Lulu, Georgie appeared the picture of contentment.

  “The marquess has relented and furnished her with all the things she has needed these past years,” Elizabeth confided to Fanny during the wedding breakfast.