To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  Georgina nodded and they removed there, chatting about the newest blend of tea Charlotte had brought from London. She’d bought a dozen or so samples so she could include Georgie in deciding which one she favored best. They had been trying a new one every few days since her return.

  “I quite enjoyed the last one, Charlotte. Very light and delicate. Is it the Assam?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “That was the day before. Remember, it had malty hints to it? And I said—”

  “That it tasted a bit like Wrotham ale.” Georgie giggled. “Yes. So what was the one yesterday? I found it very refreshing.”

  “Darjeeling. From India.” Charlotte sighed. The name Wrotham seemed to be everywhere today.

  “ Well, then, if you do not choose it to be your particular blend, perhaps I will be able to eventually.” Georgina sat in her favorite chair before the fire as Charlotte rang and ordered tea.

  “The one we’re having today is very different from the others I purchased. A smoky blend called lapsang souchang. More of a masculine tea, I think, but I particularly liked the fragrance of it in the shop. If you do not care for it, we can order some of yesterday’s for you.”

  Charlotte sank onto the Queen Anne chair and surveyed the cozy room. “I loved seeing Jane again, but I do love being home as well.” Her gaze fell on the Adams mantelpiece and her brow wrinkled. “It suddenly occurs to me that I still have not heard anything from Edgar. I would have wagered he’d be down here demanding his furniture back before now.”

  “Oh, I had a letter from Jemmy last week in which he mentioned Sir Edgar. Let me run get it.” Georgina rose and hurried from the room. Charlotte relaxed against the back of the chair and stared idly into the fireplace. Perhaps Georgie’s letter held an explanation for Edgar’s absence. God knew she didn’t want to see her stepson, but neither did she want to be surprised by his unexpected arrival.

  Charlotte closed her eyes, the warmth of the flames relaxing her at last. Well, she’d had quite a day, hadn’t she? She’d rest her eyes until Georgie returned.

  A warm touch on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and widened to find Lord Wrotham bending over her.

  “Nash?” She struggled to sit up. She must have fallen asleep and slid down in the chair. How embarrassing. “Why weren’t you announced?”

  His eyes twinkled. “When Fisk opened the doors and you sat here so charmingly in repose, I asked him not to wake you.” He sat opposite her on the sofa. “Your tea arrived, and though I thought I’d let you sleep for a bit, I couldn’t resist your rosy cheek.”

  “Hmm.” Charlotte fought the urge to yawn. “You seem to have little resistance indeed.”

  “To you, Charlotte? None whatsoever.” He grinned at her, so bold and unrepentant she had to chuckle.

  “You would say such lack of restraint in a woman foretold a wanton life.”

  “So it is extremely fortunate that I am a man and can withstand such slanders upon my person,” he replied with a droll twist of his mouth.

  He would have her laughing outright in a moment.

  “Goodness, Nash.” Charlotte glanced around. “Have you seen Georgie? She went to get a letter.” She poured the fragrant tea, hoping it hadn’t cooled too much. “How long have you been here?”

  “Only a few minutes. And no, I’ve not seen Georgina. I stopped in—”

  “Here it is, Charlotte. Oh!” Georgie burst into the room and skidded to a stop. “Nash.” Her eyes widened. “H . . . how nice to see you again.” She looked from Charlotte to Nash and back again and sat abruptly.

  Nash stood and bowed. “Georgina. The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled, and Charlotte could have sworn he winked at Georgie. Was something going on between the two of them? Georgie had said she’d refused his proposal, but their behavior suggested something was afoot. Her heart stuttered and she ruthlessly ignored it. She had closed that avenue. Determinedly, she poured a cup of tea and handed it to Georgina.

  “I had stopped in, ladies, to make sure you have had no ill effects from your ordeal, Charlotte.” He peered at her, looking her up and down as he would a horse he thought to buy. “And to give you the latest news on your estate manager.”

  At the mention of Courtland, all other thoughts fled. “Oh, please, Nash. Tell me how he is.”

  “Better than expected, thank goodness.” Nash settled back onto the sofa. “Mr. Putnam has dressed his wounds. The worst of it, of course, is the gunshot. The hole goes all the way through his shoulder—a blessing, actually—although cleaning it pained Mr. Courtland sorely.” Nash shook his head. “It will be touch and go for several days. Fortunately, I managed to keep Putnam from bleeding him. He’d actually brought the leeches with him.”

  Charlotte grimaced and Georgie shuddered.

  “I was hard pressed to keep him from what he considered his duty. If we can keep the leeches at bay, your manager resting, and make sure he takes his medicine, I’d say he has a good chance.”

  “Thank God.” Charlotte closed her eyes as relief swept through her. She hadn’t known until that moment how worried she’d been about the man. He was one of her people, and he’d put himself in danger to save her. “If there’s anything he needs, or anything I can do, Nash, please let me know.”

  He nodded. “Of course I will.” He sipped his tea and his eyes widened. “Delightful, Charlotte. A new blend from London? It’s very bold. I like it.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Yes, I quite like it too. I’m thinking of using it exclusively. Well, except for Georgie. She prefers a milder taste. Oh,” she turned to Georgina, “did you find the letter you were looking for?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry it took me so long. I had not placed it where I always put my correspondence.” She laughed and glanced at Nash. “Without fail I put all my brother’s letters in a particular box. But the letter I told Charlotte about wasn’t there. So I had to search the box, and when I still couldn’t find it, I rummaged around until I remembered I’d kept it out to show Charlotte.” Georgie held up the letter, cream paper with rows of scratchy writing. She hesitated, glancing from Charlotte to Nash.

  Charlotte nodded, then said to Nash, “Earlier I’d been wondering why I hadn’t received word from my stepson. We parted on . . . difficult terms and I’d expected to hear from him by now.”

  “Your stepson?”

  “Sir Edgar Cavendish.”

  “Ah.” Nash settled back. “I believe I’ve had news of the young man from my friend, George Abernathy.”

  Charlotte sat up, instantly alert. “What have you heard, if I may ask?”

  Nash shrugged. “Only that he has gambled excessively since returning from the Continent. And he does not always pay his debts promptly.”

  Frowning, Charlotte said, “That makes even less sense, then. If he’s in need of money, why hasn’t he contacted me?”

  Nash cocked his head. “You have some obligation to him still?”

  “No,” she shook her head, “though he must think I do.” She sighed. “It’s a rather long story, the gist of which is that I took what I owned from his father’s house in London, though I doubt he knew the extent of what legally belonged to me.” Charlotte grinned at Nash. “Suffice it to say, there is little left for him to use to raise money for his debts. I just don’t understand why I haven’t heard from him. He took possession of the house in early August.”

  “I think I have the answer to that, Charlotte.” Georgina waved her letter in the air. “Jemmy writes that after leaving us in August, he traveled to Brighton with friends. There he met Sir Edgar, who apparently had come to the seashore to celebrate his majority. He’s been in residence there ever since, gambling, drinking, and carousing.” Ge-ogie gave Charlotte a speaking look. “My brother says Sir Edgar has managed somehow to scrape an acquaintance with the Prince Regent and so is fixed at Brighton indefinitely.”

  “He must not have gone back to the London house, then.” Charlotte tried to suppress a giggle. “Oh my, but he is in for such a surprise.” W
hat she wouldn’t give to see his face when . . . She lost the battle and laughed aloud.

  Georgie joined in, leaving Nash looking bewildered.

  “I can just imagine his look when he finally goes home.” Charlotte went off into more peals of laughter. “Pardon me, Nash,” she said finally. “I don’t know what came over me.” She dabbed at her streaming eyes.

  Nash smiled and shook his head, then looked at her thoughtfully.

  The change in his demeanor sobered Charlotte immediately and set her on alert. Why did his eyes have that particular gleam in them? What was he up to?

  “I hope you won’t think this impertinent, Charlotte,” he began, feeling around in his coat pocket. A moment later, he drew out a small, framed oval of ivory and handed it to her.

  Eyes wide, Charlotte took the delicate disc gently in her hand, the smooth bone still warm from his pocket. On the pale surface lay an exquisite pen and ink drawing of a church. The intricate details—tiles on the roof, a clock in the clock tower, stained glass in the windows—brought the image to life, making her think . . . “It’s St. George’s, isn’t it?” She glanced up at Nash, whose face lit up with a soft smile.

  “Yes. I know you’ve taken a great liking to our little village and thought you might enjoy this. I had it commissioned last year after I moved here.”

  “It is beautiful.” Charlotte gazed at the lovely work, recalling the outing to the church with Nash. A happy memory. She shook her head to stop from going deeper into those recollections. Too dangerous.

  With a sigh, she handed the miniature back to Nash. “Thank you for showing it to me. Perhaps you will share the artist with me? Then I could have one commissioned.”

  His hand closed over hers, arresting it. “This is a gift for you, Charlotte. I’d like for you to have it.”

  Her mouth dropped open, shock and protest rendering her speechless. Such a present, while completely appropriate, seemed suddenly too intimate coming from him. Her gaze flew to his face to find his eyes flickering over her, as if searching for something.

  “It . . . it . . . I . . . can’t . . .” She had never been this incoherent in her life, but the look in his eyes, the warmth of his hand on hers, took her wits away.

  “I insist, Charlotte.” His hand squeezed hers. “I want you to have it.”

  “May I see it, Charlotte?” Georgie’s voice broke the spell and brought her somewhat back to herself.

  “Of course.”

  Nash released her hand and she gave the miniature to Georgie, then returned to her seat, disturbed at her reaction to the gift. It was merely a drawing. Yet it seemed so much more.

  “It is lovely. This artist is exceptional, Nash. I wonder that you can bear to part with it.” She shot an approving look at Nash, who raised his brow, then grinned at her.

  “One must do as the heart dictates, Georgina. I found myself thinking that after that ordeal today, such a gift would raise Charlotte’s sprits.” He turned to gaze at her. “I feel responsible because I haven’t been able to apprehend these brigands yet.”

  “That’s not your fault, Nash.” Charlotte would not have him take all the blame. Their neighboring landowners had been unsuccessful as well. “They’ve eluded everyone.”

  “Well,” Georgie broke in, “I still think this is a lovely present. Where shall you put it, Charlotte? You need to display it so those at the house party can see it.” She handed the piece back to her friend.

  Charlotte’s face heated. She hadn’t sent out all her invitations, but she hadn’t intended to send one to Nash. It would be more than awkward for her to be in the same company with him at a party and remembering the previous one. Georgie, however, had now taken that decision out of her hands.

  “You are quite right, Georgie. They will enjoy seeing it, especially those who attended the outing last time.” She turned to Nash, who had resumed his seat also. “You’ll be receiving an invitation shortly, Nash. I do hope you’ll be able to attend again. The party will start on the tenth.”

  “You are too kind, Charlotte. Of course I will attend. Do I know any of your guests?” Nash leaned back on the sofa, seemingly relaxed. The lines around his mouth firmed, however.

  “Yes, I believe so. My cousin Jane, Lady Stephen, and Mrs. Easton. Only Mrs. Wickley has sent her regrets. And several of the gentlemen are the same as well.” Charlotte grinned at him. “Except for Lord Fernley. He will not be receiving an invitation this time.”

  “Indeed.” Nash’s brows went up in mock surprise. “A wise deletion from your guest list in my opinion.” He hesitated, and Charlotte knew the next question he would ask. She steeled herself for it. “Will Lord Kersey be in attendance?”

  “I have issued the invitation, yes,” Charlotte said evenly. “I have received no word from him as yet.”

  Nash nodded, but made no further comment. Indeed what could he say?

  Hating the awkward silence, Charlotte desperately cast about for another topic.

  “Your party comes at a fortuitous time,” Nash said, coming to her rescue. “They must attend the Harvest Home that Friday.”

  “Harvest Home?” Georgie’s brow wrinkled. “What is that?”

  “It is the festival to celebrate the end of the harvest. Traditionally, it’s held on September twenty-third, but this year the cold weather has delayed the harvest several weeks. So we’ve settled on the eleventh of October, quite the latest Harvest Home ever held. But it means your guests will have a different sort of outing to attend this time.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would be honored to personally escort you both, Charlotte and Georgina. I will be the envy of the village—and the party too, if I don’t miss my guess.” Nash leaned forward, as if hanging on Charlotte’s answer.

  “I would be delighted to go with you,” Georgie spoke up before Charlotte could open her mouth.

  “And I as well,” Charlotte added. “It would create a good appearance in the village to have the major landowners attend together, don’t you think?” She relaxed and laughed. “I think this will be fun, although I’m sure I don’t know what one does at a Harvest Home.” She looked inquiringly at Nash.

  “I’m surprised Courtland didn’t tell you about it.” He arose, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes once more. “Perhaps he didn’t have a chance. Still, I think it will be much more entertaining if you don’t know what happens.” A fire lit behind his eyes, warming her pulse. “So we will all have something to look forward to.”

  “What will you look forward to?” Georgie’s question sounded far away as Charlotte stared into Nash’s eyes, enthralled.

  “Your response to the festival.” A smile crept slowly over his face. “There are some interesting customs attached to it. I found them quite . . . stimulating last year.”

  Georgie gasped and turned pink.

  “Ladies.” He bowed to them with a mischievous smile and left.

  Charlotte sank back against the chair, suddenly weary. Lord Wrotham had the ability to sap her strength in the most unexpected and provoking ways. Now, in addition to the demanding preparations for her weekend party, she would be fretting about this festival as well.

  Drat the man. Would he forever turn her world upside down? Charlotte had the distinct impression that the answer to that question was yes.

  Chapter 23

  Just after breakfast two days later, Charlotte shivered in the cold, misty air as she headed toward Wrotham Hall. It was only the beginning of October. What on earth would it be like by Christmas? She’d be surprised if they didn’t have to move the date of the festival yet again. This nasty weather must be delaying the harvest even further.

  She scrutinized the road, all too aware of the target she made for the gang. The robbers might be desperate enough that the cold would not deter them. She would take no more chances, however. Glancing left and right, she made sure her armed escort—James, her groom, and Jeffers, her coachman—still flanked her, easily keeping pace. Their faces, set in determined lines, turned b
ack and forth as they also scanned the land along the road for trouble.

  Her journey today had been prompted by Nash’s silence on Will Courtland’s progress. She’d heard nothing in two days, which might not bode well for her estate manager. Would Nash keep it from her if his health had begun to decline? She couldn’t be sure, even though he’d agreed to keep her informed. So she’d decided to go see for herself. She might have sent a note, but it would be better to go in person in case she could do something to add to her manager’s comfort. And, deny it though she would, she wanted to see Nash as well.

  Why the devil did her father have to spoil everything again? She tried to stay strong, to remain steadfast in her determination not to bend to her father’s will in this. If he wanted her married to Nash, he’d wait an eternity. It irritated Charlotte to no end, however, that despite his involvement with her father’s schemes, Nash occupied her thoughts much more often than he should.

  Acres showed Charlotte into the rather masculine reception room with pictures of naval battle scenes gracing the walls, where she’d waited before. She always forgot Nash had served in the Navy, although he’d never had command of a ship. He seemed so at home on his estate, it amazed her he had not been born to the life. She was peering at a rather gruesome painting of the Battle of Trafalgar when Nash walked in.

  “Charlotte. I am delighted and surprised to see you out on such a chilly day.” He grasped her hand and kissed it, lingering just a second too long. Her pulse leaped and she withdrew her hand before he made her forget her purpose.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Nash. I was admiring your paintings. This one is a bit shocking, however.” She stared again at the mayhem depicted on board the Victory. “It must have seemed like Dante’s Inferno.”

  “Trust me, it did.” His smile had gone, replaced by a hardness she had rarely seen in him.

  “You were there?” She glanced back at the painting, at the fallen men, and shuddered. He had been so close to death...

  “Not on Nelson’s ship, but on the Minotaur. Not the first battle I’d ever been in either, but one of the hottest.” He in turn stared at the painting, a distant look in his eyes.