The Waltzing Widow/Smith

by Joan Smith

  It was a quarter of an hour later that he saw Tony romping toward him. His mother and Cousin Morton were with him, but Avedon paid them little heed. It was at Mrs. Percy, hanging on Tony’s arm, that he and most of his guests stared. She wore a charming bonnet with pink rosebuds around the brim, and a fine white gown with a broad pink sash. Long pink kid gloves picked up the color of the trim and looked stunning. She might have stepped out of a Fragonard painting into his garden.

  Avedon could almost forgive the besotted smile Tony wore. How vibrant and alive she looked, how young and lovely. Say that for the muslin company, they knew how to make themselves look attractive.

  Lady Beatrice tugged at his elbow, and he turned perforce to her. The contrast was strikingly obvious. She was past the first blush of youth and hopelessly plain. In fact, as he reviewed his female acquaintances, Avedon realized there wasn’t a real dasher in the parish. No wonder Tony trailed after the other sort.

  “Is this Tony’s latest flirt?” Lady Beatrice asked in a sarcastic voice.

  Avedon felt a strong and inexplicable urge to defend the interloper. “It is his new tenant, Mrs. Percy,” he said stiffly.

  Before long the desire to defend was swept away. Mrs. Percy was clearly in no need of defense. She came sashaying forward with a bold, glinting smile. “Lord Avedon, I am come, as I promised you last night when you called,” she said.

  Lady Beatrice pokered up. Avedon calling on this commoner?

  Avedon performed a brisk bow. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Has your sister-in-law not come?”

  “She is taking advantage of Tony’s kind offer to loan her a couple of gardeners. Workmen are unaccountably hard to find this season,” she replied. Her flashing eyes reminded him of the reason. “Lady Bigelow and Mr. Carlton and Tony took pity on me and asked me to come with them,” she added.

  The smiles of her companions told Avedon they knew nothing of what was going on. Morton Carlton, in particular, looked fascinated, and he was a gentleman who had vast experience of ladies. As he approached his fortieth year, an attractive frosting of silver decorated the hair around his temples. His face showed some incipient signs of aging, but he wore his wrinkles so debonairly that they appeared an added attraction. His dark, dangerous eyes, his vulpine smile, and his excellent tailoring set him quite apart from the provincial gentlemen.

  “It is a pity about Mrs. Percy’s road being dug up,” Mr. Carlton said. “I was just telling her she ought to come to Milhaven till it is mended. It shouldn’t be more than a day or two.”

  “You tempt me, Mr. Carlton,” Lucy said, with a batting of her long lashes in his direction.

  “We would be very happy to have you, I’m sure,” Lady Bigelow said, smiling. The dame was a byword for foolishness. Avedon thought it exactly like Isabel to invite a scheming hussy into her home to seduce her son.

  “That would be inconvenient to Mrs. Percy, since she has set up a farm,” Avedon replied.

  ‘The servants could take care of the cow and my few hens,” Lucy assured him. “I am considering Lady Bigelow’s kind offer. If the road is not usable very soon, I shall remove to Milhaven.”

  Avedon read the note of warning in her seemingly innocent remark. She had him over a barrel, and they both knew it. “I shall make it top priority,” he told her, swallowing the gall of defeat and forcing himself to put a smiling face on it. He looked as if he were eating a lemon.

  “I was sure you would. So kind of you, Lord Avedon.”

  “I am happy to hear it,” Mr. Carlton said, “as I for one plan to make many calls at Rose Cottage, and I’m sure Isabel will accompany me.”

  Lady Bigelow smiled vaguely and said to Lady Beatrice, “No flies this year. The place is usually swarming with them for Sally’s garden party. This year she has provided dust instead. It must have blown in from the meadow.”

  “You do not have anything to drink, Mrs. Percy,” Lady Beatrice mentioned during a lull in conversation.

  “Are you short of servant girls, Lord Avedon?” Lucy said to him. “I was sure you told me last night you had sufficient. Had I known you were short, I would have put on my apron and offered to give you a hand,” she said playfully.

  “Would you care for an ice, Mrs. Percy?” he asked, with lips tensed at her impertinence.

  “Indeed I would, for the dust does catch in one’s throat. But that will soon be taken care of.” Under Lady Beatrice’s outraged nose, the widow waltzed off with Lord Avedon, to be served an ice.

  “You have won the battle, not the war,” he warned her.

  “I am assembling my forces, sir. If I find Milhaven a more strategic position from which to wage battle, you may be sure I shan’t hesitate to relocate. Or should I say advance my forces?”

  “Why didn’t you go? It must have served your purpose admirably.” He was puzzled at her refusal.

  “You don’t know what my fell purpose is. As I am a captain’s widow, you must be on the alert for deep maneuvering on my part.”

  “Surely you are here to trap Bigelow into an offer of marriage?” He was handed an ice and gave it to Lucy.

  She accepted and tasted it before answering. “Trap him? You make him sound like an animal. How conceited you men are. You think marriage is all we have on our minds. This is a very good ice, by the way.”

  She looked strangely youthful and innocent, like a little girl, licking her ice. “If not that, why are you here?” Avedon inquired.

  “I am recovering my health, as I explained in my letter.”

  “You look perfectly healthy to me.”

  “Thank you. And now shall we remove the gloves, milord? We are far enough removed that the others cannot hear us. I am here on your turf, against your explicit orders. Do you mean to usher me to the gate, as threatened, or has your nerve failed you? It is poor policy to utter ultimatums unless one intends to keep them. Otherwise you will never be taken seriously.”

  “So, you did hear me. I wasn’t sure.”

  “It was my lungs that were ailing, not my ears. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I hope I am not such a barbarian as that.”

  “No, indeed. You are so gentlemanly, you only call me a lightskirt when we are alone,” she reminded him. “I would think less badly of you if you did as you threatened.”

  “As we are alone, Mrs. Percy—or whatever your name is—I don’t hesitate to say I rescind nothing that I said last night.”

  “Except, perhaps, your threat of showing me the gate? That is two battles for me, n’est-ce pas? Oh, Tony, are you looking for me?”

  Bigelow, fast pelting toward them, wore the angry expression of a child whose toy has been snatched from him. He was clearly looking for Mrs. Percy and was not happy to find her alone with his uncle. He lowered his brows at Avedon and took Lucy’s arm jealously to introduce her to Kent’s society as “my dear friend, Mrs. Percy.”

  Lady Sara came running to her brother to discover what had transpired. “What is to be done?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “Isabel tells me she has invited Mrs. Percy to Milhaven. This must not be allowed, Avedon.” Lady Sara called her brother Avedon when she wished to be dramatic.

  “I’d like to keep this story as close to home as possible. Mrs. Percy has no intention of accepting the invitation.”

  “Of course she will, simpleton! There is nothing the trollop would like better than to get a toe into Milhaven. She will become a tenant for life if she does.”

  “No, she says if I repair the road, she won’t go.”

  “But why not? It is some trick, depend on it.”

  “We have a few tricks up our sleeve, too, Sal. Did you send that letter to your friend in Hampshire?”

  “I sent it off in today’s mail. In a few days, we’ll know.”

  “Then we have only to lull her suspicions for a few days. Once we have proof she’s lying, we can force her out.” A smile of satisfaction settled on Avedon’s swarthy face. His embattled pride looked forward to finally winning the wa
r with Mrs. Percy.

  Lady Sara peered around her brother’s shoulder to spy on the widow. “Just look how Tony is making up to her, in the most obvious and ill-bred way, holding her ice for her to eat. There, now Cousin Morton is joining them. You must have noticed that he has an eye for her as well. Morton always had a colt’s tooth in his head.”

  Avedon examined the spectacle for himself. “Morton has both eyes on her, and so has every other gentleman here. Surely with such a surfeit of admirers, we can find someone to replace Tony in her scheme.”

  “You are the only other title. That, I fancy, is Tony’s special attraction.”

  “I wonder.” He frowned at Mr. Carlton. “If it’s only a good match she has in mind, she might think to nab Morton. He’s rich as Croesus, and not quite over the hill yet. Fortyish, isn’t he?”

  “Thirty-nine, but he won’t tumble for her.”

  “Are you blind?” Avedon demanded. “Why is it a lady never knows who men find attractive? He’s like a fly after honey—but he won’t marry her.”

  “That’s what I meant, obviously,” Lady Sara replied with a sneer.

  A satirical grin took possession of Avedon’s features. “I’ll slip Morton word what she’s up to. He’ll enjoy having an excuse to dangle after her, and it will put him on his guard in the unlikely case he develops any serious ideas. It is the perfect way to save Tony. I think this is one battle for us, Sal.”

  “I wonder if Cousin Morton knows the archbishop,” Lady Sara said. “Or the master of Lazarus College—he traffics in ecclesiastical appointments. A word in his ear—”

  “They’re all Tories at Oxford, as blue as your blood,” her brother said.

  “I cannot think you are really exerting yourself on John’s behalf, Avedon,” Lady Sara snipped, and went off to pull Cousin Morton away from Mrs. Percy, who was interfering inordinately in John’s appointment.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re mad,” Mr. Carlton said bluntly, when Avedon got him alone at the party and outlined the nature of his suspicions against Mrs. Percy. “I hope I know a lady when I see one. She is country from head to heels, but she is genteel country. And she isn’t after Tony in the least. She spends half her time swatting him down.”

  “And the other half urging him on,” Avedon pointed out. “He doesn’t leave her skirt tails for a minute, Morton. He’s the laughingstock of the place. First Lacey, now this one.”

  “I expect it’s the Lacey affair that has got you in the boughs, but you’re high into the realms of imagination to compare the two women. In the first place Mrs. Percy wouldn’t have such a high stickler for a chaperon if she were not a genuine lady. And in the second she’d have picked up on Tony’s offer to move into Milhaven so fast your head would spin. No, no, you’re far off the mark, Avedon,” Carlton said firmly.

  “You haven’t been privileged to hear how she carries on when Tony’s not around. She as well as told me she meant to have him.”

  Carlton just smiled and shook his head. “No doubt you got her dander up with your stiff-rumped ways.” Avedon looked offended. “Only your best friends dare to tell you. You can’t help it, Avedon. Your papa was the same, but—”

  “Papa! I am not like him!”

  “Cut from the same bolt. It has taken some lady of spirit like Mrs. Percy to tackle you. She is not shy, I’ll grant you that.”

  “The woman is insolent.”

  “No, Avedon, the lady is outspoken. I have no use for simpering misses myself. And another thing, she would not have come to a little backwater like this if she were after a gent. She’d have gone to some bustling watering spot.”

  “She discovered in some way that Tony was here, ripe for plucking,” Avedon explained.

  Mr. Carlton batted the idea away in disgust. “Use your head, man. How could she know? Bigelow is not that rich or famous. Did you use his title in the advertisement?”

  “I’m not that big a fool. I used a box number.”

  “There you are, then. She had no notion he was here, or you, either.

  “I didn’t say she was throwing her bonnet at me.”

  “But why wouldn’t she, Avedon? Your fortune and title are both greater than Tony’s, yet she hasn’t made any effort to seduce you. Is that what has piqued your pride?” he asked laughingly.

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  Mr. Carlton bowed playfully. “I’ll try not to follow your example, Cousin. As it happens, you are only urging me to do what I had already decided to do— namely, cut Tony out.”

  “While making sure Mrs. Percy does not cut you in,” Avedon added with a warning look.

  “A fate worse than death, what? To be caught by such an antidote. I’ll tell you this, Avedon. If she were a filly, I’d buy her.” He looked around the grounds till he spotted Mrs. Percy and went off after her. Lucy greeted him with obvious pleasure.

  Avedon stood on a moment alone, watching them from the distance and thinking. Why hadn’t Mrs. Percy exerted any effort to please him? He was an earl, the owner of three sprawling and extremely profitable estates, yet the woman had not once flirted with him. Was he so repulsive that not even his extreme eligibility could tempt her? Between Sally and Tony, she must certainly have received an idea of his position, yet she went out of her way to irritate him.

  His plan of setting Morton onto the widow had succeeded beyond his best expectations, yet Avedon was dissatisfied. He was sorry Morton was quite so dashing and handsome. Mrs. Percy would switch beaux with no reluctance, he fancied, yet he took very little pleasure from the knowledge.

  He took even less pleasure the next morning in the village to see Mrs. Percy seated in Mr. Carlton’s stylish tilbury. She nodded to him with a pert smile, and Morton pulled the team to a halt to talk.

  Morton, the dog, looked ten years younger. What the devil had he done to himself? That rose in his lapel—surely it came from Rose Cottage? It matched the blossoms in his waistcoat. When Morton lifted his curled beaver, Avedon noticed his hair was arranged more stylishly. He had it brushed forward in the Brutus do to conceal the silvering in front. But it was the rakish grin on his lips that lent him that devil-may-care air of attraction. Sally was always saying Cousin Morton was handsome, but till that morning he hadn’t thought so himself.

  “Good morning, folks. A lovely day,” Avedon said, lifting his hat and trying for a light air to match the mood of the others.

  “I am surprised you aren’t on the estate, wielding the whip over your workers, Avedon,” Morton joked.

  “It happens I had business with my solicitor,” Avedon replied.

  “We did not for a moment imagine it was pleasure that drew you into town,” Lucy said pertly.

  Between the pair of them, they were making him sound like a philistine. “Business before pleasure,” he said, feeling foolish.

  “What mad frolic do you have planned for the afternoon?” Morton inquired with an air of raillery. “A meeting with the vicar to discuss parish doings? Or is it the day for you to interview the keeper of the local orphanage?”

  Neither of these meetings was planned, but Avedon regretted that he hadn’t something dashing to offer. “Actually I am calling on Lady Beatrice,” he lied, for he wanted to bring a lady’s name into the conversation to show that he was at least acquainted with dalliance.

  Morton just shook his head. “There is no accounting for taste,” he said. “I’ll leave you to her. Let us flee, Mrs. Percy, before he shanghais us into accompanying him. We can find something more amusing to do this fine day. Give her my regards, Avedon.”

  He whipped up the team and sped away. As Avedon got into his carriage, he felt completely dissatisfied not only with the brief meeting but with his whole life. It was a fine thing when a man couldn’t come up with one attractive female acquaintance. It was his having missed the London season that accounted for it. And that, like everything else, was Tony’s fault.

  On his way back to Chenely he stopped at Rose Cottage to see how the work was prog
ressing. The road was half-restored; the men weren’t breaking their backs to get it finished. Being at the house, he decided to stop in and talk to Miss Percy and see if he could discover anything of interest from her.

  She made him welcome politely. With her gray hair covered in a lace cap and her body in a dark gown, she was the very picture of respectability. Avedon had several such relatives himself, and in spite of his suspicions, he was soon on a good footing with her. Obviously the widow had not revealed his rudeness, or her chaperon would not be treating him so civilly. He felt a stab of guilt at his hypocrisy.

  “So kind of you to stop by,” Mrs. Percy said.

  “We were sorry you could not attend the garden party yesterday, ma’am,” he replied.

  “I was most eager to set my own garden to rights,” she explained, and chatted about her hobby for some minutes. “But I am happy Lucy could attend. She needs some socializing, after two deaths in the family coming so closely together.”

  “Who has she lost, besides her husband?” he asked with quickening interest. He had been hoping to turn the conversation to Mrs. Percy.

  “Her father died not half a year after Captain Percy’s death. Her husband’s father, that is to say,” she added in confusion. “She was staying with Alex’s family in Dorset while he was in the Peninsula.”

  “It is the Dorset Percys she is connected with, then!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, we are the Dorset Percys,” the dame said, with a touch of pride. It was an old and good family, though not noble. She took her husband’s family for her own, to keep the story straight. She and Lucy had decided that the details of their life should remain as they were, except for the few necessary adjustments regarding fortune and marital status.

  “And you have lost a father and a brother. I am very sorry, ma’am. Why did not you and Mrs. Percy return to—”