To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  Flustered, Elizabeth’s face paled. “You never told me that, Charlotte. But even so, what about a family of your own? What about children?”

  “I was married once and that was nightmare enough for me. I will not allow myself to be under the absolute power of a man ever again.” She clenched her hands, the memory of Sir Archibald’s cruelties never very far from her thoughts. “My husband commanded my every move, from town to country, country to town—whether he accompanied me or not. I could not stir from the house without his approval.” Her jaw clenched. “After our wedding, he controlled all expenditures, including my clothing. He made me feel like a servant to whom he need not pay wages.”

  “Not every man is like that.” Elizabeth set down her cup as well and grasped Charlotte’s hands. “You need to find a good one who will love you and give you children.”

  Charlotte sniffed. “If I had a loving husband, of course I would want children. I would not, however, have wanted them with Sir Archibald, had it even been possible. They might have turned out like Edgar.”

  Edgar Cavendish had taken Charlotte in dislike upon their initial meeting six years before. Try though she might in the early days of her marriage, she had never been able to make Edgar thaw toward her. After he spread rumors about the nature of her elopement with Edward, the animosity had become mutual.

  “Sir Archibald couldn’t have more children?” Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed.

  “Not when he never visited his wife’s bed, he couldn’t.” Charlotte kept her gaze firmly on her teacup.

  “You had no marital relations with Sir Archibald at all?” Elizabeth’s shocked whisper made Charlotte flinch.

  “None whatsoever.” Bitterness flooded her voice. She had not desired the physical attentions of her aging husband and had been glad when he made no move to claim his rights. He had made sure she suffered otherwise at his hands, however. To retaliate, she had filled her lonely bed with dreams of the husband she had been denied, the one with whom she could have shared a good and passionate life. It had not helped much. “The most loving thing he ever did for me was to die.”

  “Charlotte!” Elizabeth’s face had drained of color.

  Charlotte set her cup carefully on the saucer. “You may think me wicked for such thoughts, but I cannot help myself. Father dragged me from Edward’s arms and threw me into Sir Archibald’s.” Resentment welled within her anew. “Can you imagine your disgust if you were forced to leave Dickon and made to marry . . . oh, I don’t know, Lord Bassingstoke?” Bassingstoke was a particular crony of Elizabeth’s father, perhaps twenty years her senior.

  Elizabeth shook her head, cringing. “That is not quite the same thing, Charlotte. Dickon came of gentle birth, a colonel in the army. Edward Thrush was a—”

  “Servant; I know.” Charlotte stared at her fiercely. She would never be ashamed of him. “My groom, and I loved him. He loved me. What he was didn’t matter. We would have been happy.”

  “You would have been disinherited and forced to live God knows how once Edward was dismissed without a reference.” Elizabeth met her eyes, a mixture of sympathy and censure in their blue depths. “It is hard to live on love alone. Georgie can tell you that.”

  Charlotte longed to rail at her friend, defend her love, but she had never been able to make anyone understand. Edward had been the only man who had ever cared for her. From the moment that summer when her father had assigned the new groom to accompany her whenever she rode out, she had felt at ease with Edward Thrush. He’d not shied away from talking to her, as her other grooms had. She’d been sent to the Glasbury estate as punishment for speaking back to her father and had been mad for company.

  Edward had known so much about the land at Glasbury Park and had told her many fascinating things as they rode each day. He even made her laugh into the bargain. She’d loved that though a groom, he had wanted to better himself, in the hopes of owning his own small estate one day. Most of all, Edward had been kind to her. She had never had kindness from her father or brother, and precious little from her mother either, so it had mattered a great deal to her. Charlotte had not believed she was being defiant by eloping; she had simply wanted to be loved. There would never be another man as sweet and caring as Edward.

  After that horrible night, she had never heard one word about him. The moment she learned of her widowhood, she had made inquiries, tried to find him. She now had the means for them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. But the men she had employed had discovered no trace of him. Resigned to never know what had become of him, she prayed nightly he still lived. Now, at four and twenty, she had her freedom and the means to live life on her own terms. Precisely what she intended to do.

  She shook herself, as if awakening from a dream. “I beg your pardon, Elizabeth. I was woolgathering. But I do believe I have found a way to solve our problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “Well, Jane observed last night that eligible men were few and much in demand this time of year. What we need is a private place to entertain them, so we can have them to ourselves. But we couldn’t think of a place to hold a house party.” Charlotte arched her neck and raised her chin. “But I believe I have found just the place.”

  “Where?”

  “Lyttlefield Park.”

  Elizabeth cocked her head sharply. “What is that?”

  “An estate left to me at my husband’s death as part of my dowry and to which I will remove before Edgar’s arrival.”

  “Has Sir Edgar not yet returned from his grand tour? I must tell you, I thought it in exceedingly poor taste that he would go to the Continent immediately after his father’s death.” Elizabeth sipped her tea and lowered her voice. “It seemed so disrespectful.”

  Charlotte snorted. “Edgar’s tour had been scheduled long before his brother’s and Sir Archibald’s deaths. As soon as his uncle told him the funds were at his disposal, Edgar refused to let anything stand in the way of his pleasure.” She stared over her cold teacup at her friend and confided, “I am just as pleased that he has been absent these eleven months. I have almost six more weeks of respite until his return in early August.”

  “But what have you discovered about Lyttlefield Park?”

  “Lyttlefield Park?” Jane’s strident voice filled the small room as she strode in.

  “Jane, at last.” Charlotte rose to buss her cheeks.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.” Jane stripped off her gloves and unfastened her spencer. “I didn’t know you were here already.”

  Charlotte poured her a cup of tea.

  “Two lumps and lots of milk, please.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “I would think after living with you for almost twelve months I would know that, my dear.” She plopped the sugar into the cup and tipped the milk pitcher the required amount of time, then handed the cup to Jane. “Let’s see how well I managed.”

  Jane smiled and sipped. “Delicious. So, Elizabeth, are you—”

  “Lady Stephen Tarkington and Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick.” Thorne, her late husband’s staid butler, ushered them in.

  “I sent the carriage around for them earlier, before I went out.” Jane rose to greet their guests.

  Lady Stephen, Fanny to her friends, had been married to a younger brother of Jane’s husband. Lady Georgina, or Georgie, was the youngest of the widows in their little group, her circumstances the most dire. Thorne assisted them with their pelisses.

  “More tea, Thorne.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He withdrew, shutting the door with a loud click.

  “Lady Marable was quite put out that you did not call with me, Charlotte. She said she had some questions for you about last night.” Her cousin sent her a droll look before reclaiming her seat.

  “Precisely the reason I did not accompany you.” Charlotte nodded emphatically. She surveyed her circle with satisfaction. They had come, but would they all be willing to go through with the plan?

  “I am so very pleased you came this morni
ng, ladies.” Charlotte embraced her friends. “I was just telling Elizabeth I propose we create a club—we have already, you know—called the Widow’s Club.” They all settled themselves and Charlotte poured tea. “It will consist of the five of us who seek to marry or,” she shot a glance at her cousin, “take an interest in men once more.”

  “It’s to be like the gentlemen’s clubs,” Elizabeth added.

  Jane frowned. “Like White’s or Brook’s? How is that to help us find men? Unless perhaps you were thinking of a joint outing somewhere . . .”

  “No indeed.” Charlotte shuddered. “No, the club is simply similar in structure. We have always met to talk about fashion and children and—”

  “Men.” Fanny spoke up eagerly.

  “Exactly.” If anyone would get right to the point, it would be Fanny. “Except we will carry it a step further. Before the end of the Season, we will invite certain gentlemen of our acquaintance to a house party. Once there, we shall have the opportunity and the time to talk and flirt with them without constraint. Best of all, we will have these gentlemen all to ourselves.” Charlotte raised her chin, her gaze darting from face to face.

  “It is a wonderful plan, my dear.” Jane beamed at her. “But the problem remains where to have this party? Gentlemen’s clubs have particular buildings in which to meet. We are five women without property.”

  Charlotte smiled broadly. “That is not exactly true. Have you forgotten Lyttlefield Park?”

  “Ah! Yes, you were speaking of it when I entered. I had forgotten you inherited it. Well done, my dear.” Jane softly applauded.

  Fanny leaned forward. “What on earth is Lyttlefield Park?”

  “One of my father’s unentailed estates that served as part of my marriage settlement. It is in Kent, just beyond Kingsdown.”

  The hum of soft voices threatened to drown her out as the other women broke into an animated exchange.

  Charlotte had to clear her throat to get their attention. “I had been thinking to remove there permanently when we quit this town house, if you agree, Jane. However, we can open it early and make it ready to receive guests within a few weeks’ time. This morning we shall make a list of the gentlemen with whom we wish to become better acquainted so I can issue the invitations. Lyttlefield Park will be the perfect place to relax and demonstrate our numerous charms.”

  The chattering that ensued resembled a gaggle of geese in a cornfield. Charlotte had to wait for the noise to subside again before asking, “Which eligible men shall we invite?”

  Four sets of eyes stared at her expectantly.

  Drat! Had they all read that silly scandal rag? Very well, she would turn the attention elsewhere. “Jane, you were talking to Mr. Abernathy for a good bit of the evening. Are you perhaps interested in him with an eye to matrimony?”

  “I told you last night, Charlotte, I will never marry again. I am, however, very interested in Mr. Abernathy.” Jane leaned back and licked her lips, a smile curling the ends of her mouth. “By all means, invite him.”

  Charlotte wanted to roll her eyes; still, she could hardly throw stones after her own performance last night and her resolve to remain unmarried. She held her tongue and moved on.

  “Fanny? Your choice?”

  “Well,” Fanny couldn’t repress a self-satisfied smile, “I renewed my acquaintance with the Earl of Lathbury last evening. We both attended Lady Beaumont’s masquerade. I think we would suit, certainly for the weekend.” She laughed, and her face became livelier than Charlotte had ever seen it. “Indeed I hope it lasts longer. He’s a Corinthian, but I rather enjoy the horses and the hunting parties. I’m a woman who doesn’t want to live in her husband’s pocket.” Her face lost all animation. “The less I knew about Stephen’s comings and goings toward the end, the better off I was.”

  Fanny’s lips pressed into a thin line, then she seemed to make herself relax and resumed her report on Lathbury. “We danced once, but he lingered, and after the unmasking we talked for a bit. Recalling old times.” She paused, then blurted out, “He’s very . . . big.”

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped and the other ladies burst into giggles. Fanny’s face had turned bright red. Lord, how many of us have the same thing on our minds? And not necessarily marriage.

  To cover her embarrassment, Charlotte fetched paper and pen from her travel desk. “All right.” She sat and began her list. “Mr. George Abernathy, the Earl of Lathbury.” She paused and looked at Elizabeth and Georgina expectantly.

  Georgina immediately looked guilty and hung her head.

  “Has anyone taken your fancy, Georgina?” Charlotte asked gently. Her friend looked as if ready to bolt at the idea. “Someone you would like to know better?”

  After several moments, Georgie nodded, and whispered, “Jane introduced me to Lord Fernley at Lady Gresham’s when we called the other day. He seemed kind.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Charlotte tried to sound encouraging, although Georgie obviously had not the slightest interest. “Shall I ask him down? You’ve spoken to him, so he won’t seem a total stranger, and there will be others at the house party you likely know as well.”

  A curt nod of Georgie’s head and Charlotte jotted down Fernley’s name.

  “Now, Elizabeth.” Charlotte tried to infuse her voice with enthusiasm, but the stricken look on her friend’s face made her feel like a torturer. “Have you someone you would like me to invite, dearest?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I simply have not got my spirits up sufficiently to want to meet anyone else, Charlotte. I am sorry. I think it best if I not attend the house party this time.”

  “Nonsense. There must be someone you have met whom you would like to know better.”

  “Can I have you invite my brother?” Georgina asked excitedly.

  Charlotte cocked her head. “Your brother? Why would you want to bring your—”

  “For Elizabeth.”

  A rosy flush spread upward from Elizabeth’s neck. “Georgie, you don’t need to do that.”

  Georgina grasped Elizabeth’s hands and smiled gleefully. “But don’t you see, it will help me too. I’ll know someone and feel more comfortable around all these strange men.”

  Elizabeth’s blush began to recede. “Which brother, Georgie?”

  “The eldest, Jemmy . . . um, Lord Brack.” Georgie’s charming one-sided grin brightened her face. “He is so much fun. You will like him, Elizabeth. Even if he is the heir, and six years older than I, he’s always looked out for me. He didn’t approve of Father disowning me or taking away Mr. Kirkpatrick’s living for marrying me and his son, but in the end Jemmy could do nothing to dissuade him.” She looked at Charlotte hopefully. “If you invite him, I will finally be able to see him. It has been three years since I last spoke with him, but you mustn’t tell anyone I will be there or Father may forbid him to come.”

  Charlotte wrote the name with a flourish. “There, he is on the list. And if he is as wonderful as he sounds, Elizabeth will be well entertained.” She laid the pen down and fanned the paper. “Ladies, I believe we have our first guest list.”

  A smile tugged at Jane’s lips and she said in a teasing voice, “We appear to be one guest short. Who will you invite, Charlotte? You must choose as well.”

  Drat. After last night, they certainly must expect her to invite Alan Garrett despite her protests. Charlotte closed her eyes, and the darkly handsome figure of Lord Wrotham sprang to mind instead—black hair, intense blue eyes, and full, sensual lips. She remembered well the feel of his hard chest and the strong arms that had saved her and sighed softly.

  “If you are squeamish about writing his name, I am not.” Jane’s words brought her back to the present to find her cousin had plucked the list out of her hands and was busily writing.

  “Jane!” Charlotte dove for the paper, but her cousin held it out of reach. “Whose name are you writing?”

  “Alan Garrett’s of course.” Jane laughed, fanning the paper before her face.

&nbs
p; “What about Alan Garrett?”

  A shiver of dread coursed through Charlotte at the sound of that loathsome male voice. Steeling herself, she turned toward the doorway.

  Sir Edgar Cavendish stood stripping off his riding gloves, a snarl on his thin lips.

  Chapter 5

  “Edgar.” The shock of seeing him took Charlotte’s breath away. What was he doing here in June? Automatically, she rose. “I didn’t expect you back until August.”

  “Really? Thought you’d be able to live off my charity for another couple of months, eh?”

  The Continent had changed her stepson not one iota. Charlotte’s arsenal of defenses against Edgar’s bullying clicked back into place. After five years of taunts and disrespect, conveniently overlooked by his father, she had devised her own methods to cope with him. First, she’d get him away from her friends. No one save his relations should have to be subjected to Edgar’s tirades.

  “Come, let us remove to your father’s office to discuss this privately.” She moved toward him and he put a hand out to stop her.

  “We might as well speak before your friends. I am sure they will be affected by your lack of means as well.” He brushed past her to sit in the chair she had just vacated.

  She narrowed her eyes at her loathsome prig of a stepson. “I have perfectly acceptable means, Edgar, as you very well know from the reading of your father’s will. I have my jointure and I have the settlement from my dowry.”