Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow

by Jenni James

  Sophia placed her hand on her arm. "Catherine, are you well?"

  "What a pair we make!" She exclaimed through tears she was determined to hold back. "I was only asking the same of you a few minutes ago, was I not?"

  "Yes, but . . . you are not well."

  "I am perfectly fine," she lied, her shoulders all at once shaking too. And then she broke in front of her dear stepdaughter-in-law. Her lips began to tremble and her voice could not find its steady self. "I am not fine. I . . . I do not want to be alone, Sophia. I do not ever want to be alone again."

  "Come here." The slightly older woman wrapped her arms around her stepmama and allowed Catherine to weep upon her shoulder. "You do not have to be by yourself, dearest. He loves you so very much. He will always love you. A man that consistent after all these years will never look elsewhere. You have captured him completely."

  Catherine was attempting with every moment to gain control of herself again, yet she could not. Her exasperating tears would not leave her be.

  "Shh ..." Sophia began to sway with her in her arms, like she would for Joshua, and it was oddly comforting. "You only need to see how much you are loved and to trust him, dearest. He will not be unkind to you. I promise, it will not be like the last. You will be loved your whole life by Lord Hamson. Indeed, he has held on this long."

  Catherine shook her head, unwilling to believe. "But he does not know me. What—what if when we are finally wed, he despises me?"

  Sophia hugged Catherine tighter. "What a foolish thing to say. Catherine, do you not know that Lord Romney never loved you? He did not. He was desolate and afraid of being by himself, so he married you and attempted to correct you into being someone you were not and never will be. My dear, you must listen. Lord Hamson loves you with every fiber of his being. He does not want to marry the old Lady Romney. Why, how could you imagine he would? No, my dear, he wishes for you, and only the wonderfully perfect you."

  Catherine moved away and looked around fretfully. There was nothing more than she desired right then than to ponder Sophia's words in private. Her stepdaughter must have comprehended her quandary, for in the next instant, she was scooping up a protesting Joshua and carrying him from the room. Her last words were, "I state the truth. You recognize that I do," before the door shut soundlessly after her.

  Gradually, Catherine walked to her bed and then curled up within it. For some minutes, she permitted the last four years to wash over her until she heard the faint mewing and scratching of the kitten pleading to be elevated up onto the bed. She reached over and picked him up, and then nestled him close as her world ever so deliberately shifted and a small sliver of hope began to prick at her heart.

  Could she trust that she was worth loving? Could she trust that George would valiantly always see the good in her and overlook the bad? It was not until that very moment that she grasped just what a dolt she was. Of course he would overlook her faults—had she not easily excused him of his? Abruptly, she sat up in her bed. Was this the love George was speaking of? The ability to look past mistakes, to see the glorious creature underneath? This is where her first marriage failed. There was no forgiveness. There never would have been.

  Sophia was most definitely correct. The old earl did not love her. He did never wish to do so, either. No, he wanted her to be less than his wife, so he only saw the parts of Catherine that were less than his dear countess. He would have never actually seen her for who she was. Not the way George did.

  George did not give one fig how she sat and how she held her fork, or if she could name all the flowers or keep a fine house. He wanted her company because they had such a great comradery together. Because they cared about many of the same things and laughed at each other’s silly antics. The very things Lord Romney had tried to snuff out of her, George had been desperate to bring out again. If that did not prove the worth and love of the man, what would?

  Her heart burst open, and for the first time in years, she began to feel truly alive. My word! What a glorious feeling it was to feel so warm, happy—nay, exuberant. She was in love, and there was nothing anyone could say that would alter that. George was correct—it was the most magnificent sensation in the world!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

  Catherine could not wait to go riding with George the next day and waited for him all afternoon. She had made up her mind that she would amaze him and answer yes the first moment his proposals appeared, for had they not done so every single day before? She bit her lip and twirled around in her room, allowing the pretty purple dress to swoosh this way and that as her naughty kitten attempted several times to catch her petticoat within his paws.

  Her matching purple bonnet and kidskin gloves were waiting on the small table near her door, and her perfectly matching ribboned slippers were already upon her feet. That day was the most divine day that ever could be, for it was the day she would accept her most beloved’s offer of marriage. Goodness, what a ninny she had become, but surely she could not help the exhilaration bubbling inside, the gleeful anticipation.

  And then he was there, finally.

  She essentially flew down the stairs, the ribbons of her bonnet trailing behind her until the very most last two steps, where she abruptly halted and inhaled a deep breath. With as much ladylike dignity as she could obtain, she leisurely made her way to the floor and approached the drawing room, where Chaffney said he was waiting for her.

  “Catherine, how fetching you look today,” George said as he bowed over her hand.

  She smiled. “Why, thank you, George.”

  He must have noticed the air practically sparkling around her because when his gaze caught hers, he paused. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you. Indeed, on occasion, you take my breath away.”

  “I hope for not too long a stretch. I would hate to see you expire upon this carpet. I am sure I would feel exceedingly remorseful if you did.”

  He laughed and held out his arm. “Are you ready for our outing, minx?”

  “Indubitably.”

  Catherine tied the ribbons of her bonnet and put on her gloves. It was time for London to see the change in her as well. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and together, they made their way into his waiting curricle. Off they went, George smartly attending to the team.

  For forty-five minutes, Catherine listened intently to his small talk. She laughed and bantered back and forth during the excursion. The whole of it was spent talking as they always did, yet not once did the subject of matrimony come up. Indeed, by the time George dropped her off, she was astonished they had not spoken of marriage at all.

  The same thing happened once again at the musicale that evening, and the Thwittering’s ball the next evening. Even the trip to Vauxhall Gardens the following week did not produce one proposal from his lips. The frustrating buffoon spoke of everything else. She could not disparage his charming manners, his conversations, his knowledge—any of it. It was all meant to entertain, and it did—however, she was becoming rather anxious and wondering if perhaps he did not mean to offer his hand again after all.

  It was a fortnight later, long after she decided to forgo her trip to Bath, and nearly six weeks since they first were reunited again, while they were once more reveling in their afternoon ride. Just as George took the curricle around Hyde Park that Catherine determined she could not hold herself back anymore. If he no longer carried feelings for her, it was best to know these things now. Good heavens, the infernal man was out to abolish every ounce of sleep or peace she had known since her own feelings were realized.

  With a deep breath and one hand clutching the railing of the curricle perhaps a little too tightly, Catherine collected every ounce of gumption she had and queried, “George, are you never going to mention marriage around me again?”

  “What?” He looked stunned. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you correctly? Did you ask if I was going to tease you about marriage?”

  “Oh.” Her chest tightened significantly, and her breathing
became a bit more pronounced. “I see. I did not realize that your proposals were merely in jest. Forgive me for bringing up the subject.” It felt as though her whole world had plunged to her feet, and nothing made sense anymore.

  George swiftly pulled the carriage out of the lane and stopped it in front of a small walking path. “Catherine, what is this you are speaking of? And why the morose face, my dear? Do you not know how much I love you?”

  “Do you?” This was decidedly much better than her first impressions of the conversation.

  “Of course I do, sweetling. I would not be here else.”

  “Then why do you not offer your hand in marriage anymore?”

  “What?” He chuckled and clutched one of her hands to his chest. “Because I believed you wished me to stop doing so. In fact, I am fairly certain you told me to several times. Are you implying that you miss such antics from me, and wish me to do so again?”

  She brought her worried gaze to his. “Only if you wish to. I would prefer earnestness than anything else right now.”

  George’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide before he hoarsely whispered, “My love, are you implying you truly wish me to renew my proposals? Have you perhaps had a change of heart?”

  “Yes.”

  Strong fingers came to brush against her cheek. “And how long have you waited for me to do so? How long have I been a fool and put you through such agonies?”

  “Oh, way too long.”

  “Forgive me. We men are a foolish lot indeed. None of us know the right thing to say when it is needed to be said most.”

  “I understand, dear. Yet I would feel much more comfortable if you put my mind to rest and said the words I have been hoping to hear this last fortnight at least.”

  George grinned, then began to chuckle and then out-and-out laughed. “I find you the most absolutely adorable creature in the whole world. I cannot imagine a day without you. And it is things like this that reiterate to me how absolutely delightful you are.”

  “George?”

  “Hush, dear. I am working up to it.” He leaned down and kissed her pout and then continued, “I have many other things I wish to say first, however, I fear you may change your mind, so we will wait until after the wedding to go over all my true feelings for you. For now, let it suffice enough to say, Catherine Poleton Romney, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She let out a sigh of relief and then nodded, her mind whirling with all of the comebacks she wished to make, but the only one that mattered was, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  After George scandalously kissed her again in broad daylight in the middle of the street, she said, “And I am regretful that I was inexcusably late to the awareness that I would indeed very much wish to be your wife.”

  His smile was wide, his dimple deep, and the glorious man could not contain the joy that exuded from him. “Dearest, I do not care when you came to the realization that we were perfect for each other. I am just so grateful you came to your senses and understood it too. For there is no other—and has never been—but you in my life, and I would have been miserably lonesome without you.”

  “That is what happened to me! You will laugh when I tell you, but I could not bring myself to head to Bath knowing you would not be with me. I have become so accustomed to you, I came to see how dreadful I would feel without you.” She shook her head. “I do not ever want to be without you again.”

  He embraced her. “Four years has been enough. And in four years, you may wish yourself ages away from me, but I do not care. I have heard your glorious declarations, and now I forever hold you to them.”

  “I love you, George. I have always loved you, yet now I understand it so much more deeply. Four years—nay, forty years—would not be long enough with you.”

  With which Lord Hamson completely agreed. He must have, for the decadent kiss in his curricle was certainly long enough to imply such thing.

  THE END

  COMING SOON:

  At Lady Romney’s and Lord Hamson’s betrothal ball, Lord Atten meets his match. Watch for the next in the Regency Romance Series by Jenni James. This time, it may take a little bit more than light flirtation to capture the interest of this clever lord.

  Don’t miss The Bluestocking and the Dastardly, Intolerable Scoundrel, Jenni James’ first Regency novel, which was #1 in Regency for over a month. Purchase here.

  And now for a special peek at My Pride, His Prejudice, a contemporary take on Jane Austen by Jenni James. Purchase here.

  CHAPTER ONE:

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” Eliza’s heart rate tripled as she nervously flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder. It was way too late at night to be dealing with this. How in the world could this be happening? Nothing made sense. Nothing.

  The handsome man knelt down on one knee in front of her on her entranceway tile and reached into his chest pocket. “I was saying—”

  “No!” She put her fingers over his to prevent him from pulling out the inevitable ring. A warm, solid hand met hers, and Eliza quickly pulled away. “I . . . er . . . I just meant that maybe you shouldn’t get too excited. I really don’t think we’d work out as a couple.”

  Will Darcy, Salt Lake City’s hottest and wealthiest bachelor, gave her a strange look. “What do you mean, we wouldn’t work out?”

  There was no way he was serious. She wanted to roll her eyes, but didn’t. “I’m assuming you haven’t had very many women turn you down for anything, have you?”

  He cleared his throat and slowly made his way back to a standing position. “So … are you turning me down?”

  Now that they were both standing, she couldn’t help but notice just how very tall he was, or how broad his shoulders actually were. Good grief—no wonder so many women fell for his charm. The man was like a cover-model-movie-star-god. Ugh. She hated his type. Eliza took a deep breath. “Yes, I am. But I’d like to thank you for the … er . . . amazing honor this is.”

  “Wait.” He tilted his head. “Are you saying you had no idea I felt this way?”

  She nearly choked. “About me? That you wanted to marry me? Uh—no.” Like that would’ve ever entered her mind. They could barely stand to be around each other, let alone snuggle next to each other at night. Oh. My. Word. She shuddered. That was the closest she would ever get to that image again. Yeesh.

  He put his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Nice. I start to propose, and not only do you reject me, but you shudder as you do it.”

  Her jaw dropped slightly. What was going on? “What am I supposed to do? I thought you despised me. But more importantly than that—why? Why me? Why now?” Elizabeth looked around and raised her hands, palms up. There had to be a camera somewhere, right? “Is—is this a joke?”

  “No, Eliza, it isn’t a joke.” He rubbed his face and stared off into the distance. She could see his emotional wall going up between them like an iron wedge.

  He couldn’t be serious. “Wait! Just answer me.”

  His dark brown eyes met hers. The black ring around his beautiful irises seemed softer tonight, almost like they were … She gasped. “You’re crying?”

  He winced. “Goodnight, Eliza.” As he turned to leave, she grabbed the sleeve of his suit.

  “Just a minute. Don’t go yet.” He refused to make eye contact again. “I have to understand why. This seems so surreal. If you’re serious, please, explain to me. Weren’t we—didn’t we—haven’t we always been enemies?” Her voice drifted off. She felt so lost and vulnerable all of a sudden. William Darcy was upset, and somehow her whole world began to slip like sand underneath her feet.

  He glanced down. Her eyes followed his, down his well-fitted gray suit and purple tie, all the way to his sharp designer dress shoes and then to her entranceway tile beneath their feet. “I was never your enemy,” he whispered.

  She felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. But she couldn’t let this end here and now—she had to sort this out. “Yes, yes, you were. I overheard y
ou telling Charles Bingley that I wasn’t even good enough to date. How my presence annoyed you, since I wasn’t someone trained by your father’s company. How you didn’t even want me in your office building, let alone as your consultant.”

  “Yes. I said that.” He still looked down. His foot tapped slowly on the floor.

  “And then you’ve gone about making my life awful these last ten months, trying anything you can to get me fired.”

  His head snapped up, and their eyes locked. This time, there was a blaze deep inside. “No. That’s where you’re wrong. I never wanted you gone. I’d hoped and prayed you’d be half the woman I realized you were. I knew you weren’t afraid of me. I knew you’d tell me like it is. I knew you were the exact woman I needed to help this whole company progress. I didn’t like it at first, but I knew it.” He walked over and leaned his shoulder against the door. “However, eventually I went against my better judgment, everything I’d been trained in an office environment to do, and decided to form a relationship with my consultant—I saw you as a woman I had to date, had to get to know more, and eventually, the woman I had to love.”

  Her jaw dropped and she stepped back, though her eyes could not break their gaze. “Really? But . . .?”

  “But what?” He shook his head. “Are you telling me you had no idea my feelings had changed? What about our lunches? Weren’t those considered dates? And those business trips? I took you halfway around the world!”

  Was she hearing him right? “Yeah, the lunches where we spent at least an hour and a half arguing over your ridiculous attempts to handle certain clients? And those business trips when I had to leave my plans behind and instead babysit you for days on end to make sure you didn’t screw something up?”

  “Babysit me?” He stepped forward. “Of all the—when you were the one who had no idea how to dress appropriately until you began working for me? You couldn’t even attend a public function without somehow saying something crass or outrageous and nearly upsetting my guests. Yes, you, the wild card!” He pointed right at her. “That’s right—I brought you along to babysit me.” He folded his arms and attempted a laugh.