The Wary Widow

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  However, even worse than his fear of domesticity was his fear of making a mistake. Of marrying the wrong woman. Lady Elizabeth seemed perfect on paper, but...

  Blast that damned Lord Edgmond! And blast my brother and sister for finding mates they actually loved!

  Andrew banged his fist hard on the side table next to him.

  “I’ll ask you to refrain from taking your aggression out on my furniture,” Benjamin droned. “Why don’t we head over to Jackson’s instead?”

  “I would rather head to the Rose and Crown for a pint and diversion.”

  Benjamin rolled his eyes. “You forget I’m a married man now. Diversions are no longer allowed, not that I’d care for them anyhow. The only person I care to dally with is my wife. I’m sure you’ll feel the same way...one day.”

  “Right.” Andrew stood, choosing to ignore his brother’s passive way of telling him that he should avoid diversions as well. “Jackson’s it is, then.”

  By the time Andrew crawled into bed that night, he was sore and drunk - he'd chosen to go to Jackson's and The Rose and Crown - but still at a loss for what to do about Elizabeth. He wanted to marry her. Of course he wanted to marry her! There was no question about that.

  But then visions of his brother and Phoebe, of his sister and the duke, and mostly of his own mother and father, swam around in his fuzzy brain. Love. That was the common denominator of those unions. Love and honesty and understanding.

  Andrew laughed aloud at his romantic musings. Luck. That’s how they’d all happened upon their love, but surely it couldn’t happen for everyone.

  And why did he even care? He valued his freedom. If Elizabeth were in love with him, he’d no doubt feel trapped, shackled to her for life with no means of escape.

  He shook his head and fell back onto his pillow. No, love was the absolute last thing he wanted from marriage.

  Four

  “You infernal beast, leave me be!”

  Chloe followed the sounds of her aunt’s pleas until she found her in the breakfast room. There she stood alone, backed into a corner, her arms scrunched in a defensive position while the family dog barked at her. To her aunt's credit, Daisy was a rather large animal, as all Saint Bernards tended to be. But Daisy had a heart of gold, Chloe knew, and she wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone the woman responsible for her welfare.

  “Oh, Chloe! Thank heavens!” her aunt exclaimed. “Please call him off.”

  “Aunt Prudence, Daisy is a girl.”

  “I don’t care what it is, it’s trying to kill me!”

  Chloe tried not to laugh at her aunt as she said, “She’s not trying to kill you, Aunt Prudence, she wants to play. And the way you’re clutching your fists like that, she thinks you want to play as well.”

  Aunt Prudence calmed slightly and looked at her niece, bewildered.

  “Go on,” Chloe prodded. “Open your hands. Show her you don’t have anything for her.”

  Like a child, the woman nodded her head and slowly unclenched her fists. Daisy lost interest and ran to Chloe, slobbering affectionately all over her hand.

  “See? She just wants to be included.”

  Regaining her composure, Aunt Prudence swept cautiously from the corner and resumed her place at the breakfast table. “Well, perhaps you could include her somewhere other than my breakfast parlor?”

  Chloe smiled at her aunt. “Of course, Aunt Prudence. I’ll take her for a walk,” she said as she grabbed a slice of toast off the buffet and shoved it in her mouth. She would have much preferred to sit down to eggs and bacon—goodness, her mouth was watering from the savory smell!—but apparently, duty called.

  “Take Sarah with you.”

  “No need,” Chloe replied, her mouth full, as Daisy tugged her towards the front hall. “Daisy will protect me.”

  After attaching Daisy’s lead and donning her gloves, the pair burst onto the street, excited to be out in the fresh morning air. It had clouded and rained every day since her arrival almost a week earlier. Chloe liked the city much better in the sun. And she would take a much longer walk today since there seemed to be no threat of rain.

  The city was only just waking, and the sidewalks were quiet except for the odd servant or man-about-town on his way to tend to important business. Chloe welcomed the peacefulness. Between Daisy’s incessant barking whenever she was indoors, and her rowdy cousins, Chloe rarely enjoyed a moment of serenity.

  Since she came to London, she'd become accustomed to taking Daisy on her morning walks. It was a good way to explore the city a bit—at least the Mayfair portion of it, for she wasn't so brave as to venture beyond its borders. Today they left Mount Street, wandered through Berkeley Square, past New Street, zig-zagged a bit more and then Daisy turned down Berwick Street.

  As soon as they rounded the corner onto Berwick, Chloe’s foot caught on a wobbly cobblestone, and she stumbled until she finally fell face-forward to the ground. Luckily, she caught herself with her hands. Better to have torn hands and gloves than a scraped-up face.

  She didn't have much time to assess the damage though, as Daisy barked and pulled at her, apparently disgruntled they had come to a stop.

  “Hush, Daisy!” Chloe chided as she struggled to pick herself up from the sidewalk. “People are still sleeping at this time of the morning.”

  She examined her skirts and brushed away the dirt, losing her grip on Daisy’s leash in the process. Instantly aware that she was free, Daisy broke into a run down the street.

  “Daisy!” Chloe yelled after her as she too broke into a run. “Daisy, stop!”

  The dog feigned deafness and continued running at a speed Chloe could never hope to maintain. She lost sight of her after mere moments and slowed to a walk, her breath coming in ragged spurts. How was she ever going to find her now?

  “Daisy!” she called, hoping that by some miracle the dog would come running back to her.

  She dredged on, scanning both sides of the street for any sign of her wayward pet. Halfway up the lane, Chloe caught sight of Daisy's white and brown coat and heaved a great sigh of relief. That relief however, was quickly replaced by a racing pulse. Kneeling in front of Daisy, on muscular haunches, was Lord Andrew. He was dressed for the day in a crisp white neckcloth, tight, tan breeches and a dark brown jacket. His hair was slightly disheveled unlike the night before when it had been slicked into a distinguished coif.

  Air suddenly eluded Chloe.

  She watched him for a moment, unable to move or breathe, fascinated at his behavior with the dog. Clearly he was well acquainted with her, and Daisy seemed to know exactly where to find him. He had her by the jowls and rubbed her frantically while she licked his face. Lord Andrew laughed and sputtered, but didn't pull away. He was enjoying himself immensely it seemed.

  “Who are you here with, girl?” he asked in what Chloe thought to be a rather silly voice for a grown man. “Where is one of your many masters?”

  Lord Andrew finally turned away from the dog and immediately honed in on Chloe, who blushed and stammered like a ninny.

  “I-I was walking her, and she ah...her leash, you see, I dropped it.” She paused, trying to gather her wits before she finally said, “Good morning, Lord Andrew.”

  He stood to his full height, still elevated on his front stoop, forcing Chloe to tilt her head up and shield her eyes from the sun. Her heart fluttered but she immediately told it not to.

  It didn't listen.

  “Well, good morning, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Lord Andrew said as he grabbed Daisy's leash and descended the few stairs to the sidewalk. “I wasn't expecting to see you walking this beast.”

  Chloe smiled. “It's become my habit since I arrived. It's a nice way to see the city, and I'm not required to bring a chaperone.”

  “Ah, I see.” He held out the leash to her. She reached out and their hands grazed slightly as she took it from him. Good heavens, her heart was going to jump out of her chest. “Which way are you headed?”

  “I don't know,” she admitt
ed, breaking their eye contact to look up and down the street. “I don't usually plan, I just go and hope that Daisy will lead me back home when she's ready.”

  “May I accompany you, then? I do adore walking with Daisy.”

  ***

  “Oh, of course!” Mrs. Hawthorne practically yelled. Andrew smiled, seeing he'd unnerved her. He wondered why, at the same time knowing that most women found it impossible not to succumb to his charm and good looks.

  “Excellent!” he replied, hiding his knowing smile. “Let me see to Daisy then so you may enjoy the sights without being dragged behind. I know what a beast she can be and it seems she's already put you through your paces this morning.”

  “Indeed, she has.” Mrs. Hawthorne held up her hands, revealing dirty gloves, one with a large hole in it that revealed a bit of broken skin.

  “Good Lord, how did that happen?” he asked as he took her hand to examine it more closely.

  “I fell,” she said, suddenly appearing very young and very bashful. “That's when Daisy ran away from me.”

  “Does it still hurt?” He took off the ruined glove and examined the scrapes, noting how slender and feminine her fingers were as he did. And duly noting the gold band she wore.

  “It stings a little,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “But it's nothing, really.”

  “We don't want it to get infected, Mrs. Hawthorne.” Andrew turned on his heal, tethered Daisy to the wrought iron gate in front of his town house and marched up the stairs.

  Deane immediately flung the door open and waited while Andrew turned back to Mrs. Hawthorne, who stood like a statue on the pavement.

  “Come along, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he beckoned. “My housekeeper will see to your hand.”

  “It's really not necessary, my lord. Honestly, I will see to it myself once I'm home.”

  “Nonsense. An infection could settle in by the time you reach Mount Street and I won't stand for it. Now—” he gestured for her to walk through the door, “—inside with you.”

  Left with no other choice, Mrs. Hawthorne went inside. Andrew followed her, deposited her in the masculine drawing room and sought out his housekeeper, Mrs. Finch.

  Mrs. Finch—or Gloria, as they referred to her when not in polite company—wasn't your usual housekeeper, nor was she a missus, and Andrew was grateful Lady Elizabeth didn't know about the woman. He wasn't sure how she'd take it if she knew their domestic was a former whore. Certainly, she wasn't one now, and she'd never wanted to be one in the first place, but she had been, nonetheless.

  She flirted endlessly with Andrew and his brother, but everyone knew and agreed that anything more would be untoward and unacceptable. He had a feeling she and Deane, their butler cum valet, had spent many a winter night together, however.

  He found the woman in the kitchen, sneaking a lick of whatever batter she was mixing up. Hopefully she was making his favorite sugared biscuits. The smell alone made him salivate.

  “Why, Lord Andrew,” she exclaimed as she wiped her hands clean. “I thought you'd gone out already.”

  “I had, but I ran into someone who needs a bit of mending, if you don't mind.”

  “Mending?” Her eyebrows shot up in speculation.

  “Don't get any ideas, Gloria. She is my fiancée’s cousin, for God's sake.”

  “I didn't say a word,” she replied haughtily, and then slipped past him through the kitchen door.

  Gloria Finch had had one encounter with Lady Elizabeth and it would have been a vast understatement to say the woman didn't like his betrothed. Andrew didn't know the details, nor did he really care, but he was forced to endure Gloria's snide remarks about Elizabeth on a near daily basis.

  “Mrs. Finch, this is Mrs. Hawthorne,” he introduced as they came into the room. “She fell and scraped her hands this morning and could use some fixing up.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne's eyes widened at the sight of Mrs. Finch, but she quickly concealed her surprise and said, “Goodness, Lord Andrew, you make me sound like a child.”

  “Aren't you?” She certainly didn't look a day over eighteen.

  “Well, no,” she stammered. “I turned twenty in February. I'm older than Lizzie by six months.”

  “Ah...my mistake.” He crossed the room to them and stood over Mrs. Finch's shoulder. “What do you think, Mrs. Finch? Will she survive?”

  A loud cackle filled the room and Mrs. Finch threw her head back, laughing bawdily, making her exposed bosom bounce frantically. Andrew watched Mrs. Hawthorne. She was clearly baffled by this odd woman and the circumstances of Andrew's household.

  “It's nary a scrape, milord,” Mrs. Finch said, smacking him rather forcefully on the arm. “A little alcohol and a bandage and she'll be right as rain, she will. Sit tight, Mrs. Hawthorne, I'll be back in a moment. And don't let this one charm you into his bed while I'm gone.”

  With another loud cackle, the woman disappeared through the doorway. Andrew turned to see Mrs. Hawthorne gaping after her.

  “Don't mind her,” he said. “She's a bit spirited, but she makes a fine housekeeper.”

  “Fine, indeed. Wherever did you find such a woman?”

  Andrew smiled, liking very much that this slight woman of twenty years didn't mince words or beat about the bush. “I'll tell you if you promise not to tell Lady Elizabeth. I've no doubt she would disapprove of our unconventional housekeeper.”

  Chloe scooted forward on the edge of the chair, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I promise.”

  “Truth be told,” he began, “I met her at an establishment of, shall we say, questionable values?” He stopped, realizing this was an entirely inappropriate conversation to be having with a lady, alone, in his parlor, widow or otherwise.

  “Well, go on, my lord. Mrs. Finch will be back any moment.”

  “Yes, well...you see, this isn't all that easy to say to a lady such as yourself.”

  “Oh, I'm no lady, just poor relations.”

  Andrew laughed and finally gave in. “The madam gave her to me, so to speak. She was to be mine for the night, only she came to me trembling, upset, really quite terrified.”

  “Oh, dear, the poor thing!”

  “Poor thing is right. She was only nineteen at the time. Both her parents had died of some sort of fever and she'd fallen into the profession quite by accident. She'd been working, shall we say, for three years, but had, just that night, experienced something quite frightening.”

  “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “Yes, but do not dare ask me to repeat it. Good Lord, no woman should ever be exposed to such horrors, even second hand.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “Well, Mrs. Hawthorne, I like a woman to be willing when she comes to my bed, and so I didn't touch her, naturally. Rather, I bought her out, brought her here and employed her as our housekeeper.”

  A glowing smile broke out on Mrs. Hawthorne's lips. It made her eyes light up and her cheeks rosy, and he realized she was beaming at him with the pride of a mother. Good God, he had just ruined his reputation as a playboy in one fell swoop. All because the little twit had begged him to tell his story.

  “Please don't.”

  “Don't what?” she asked.

  “Don't look at me like...well, like that.”

  “I'm sure I don't understand. I'm merely smiling at you. I think it's quite honorable what you did, no matter how you came by her.”

  Andrew didn't miss the hint of censure in her tone and that made him smile again. “Ah, here she is. Mrs. Finch, I will be outside seeing to Daisy, if you would be so kind as to escort Mrs. Hawthorne there when you're done.”

  “Not a problem, milord,” Mrs. Finch said with a wink.

  He wasn't sure what the wink meant, but he decided it was best left ignored.

  He turned to Mrs. Hawthorne to see she stared back at his housekeeper with badly veiled fascination. Good God, she was fascinated by her? Andrew wanted to laugh, but he couldn't, for he realized that just as she was fascinated by Mrs.
Finch, he was fascinated by Mrs. Hawthorne.

  Five

  “Chloe!”

  Chloe looked up from the letter she’d been writing to her mother. She was in the middle of telling her all about Lord Andrew's housekeeper, which was still hard to believe. Goodness, a whore for a housekeeper.

  Former whore, Chloe! There you go being uncharitable in your thoughts again.

  Lizzie continued to call for her, and soon there were footsteps on the landing outside her bedroom door. Chloe sighed and placed her quill back in the ink well. She would have to finish the letter later, since apparently, duty called again.

  “Chlo—Oh, there you are.” Lizzie bounded into the room, her blond curls bouncing. “I wish to take a walk, but naturally, I can’t go alone.”

  “Naturally,” Chloe repeated, rising from her desk chair. “I’ll just fetch my pelisse.”

  Lizzie followed close on her heels as she walked to her closet, and Chloe couldn’t help but wonder at her peculiar behavior.

  “Don’t forget your parasol,” Lizzie advised. “It’s awfully bright today.”

  Chloe turned and practically collided with her cousin, she was so close. She brandished her parasol and waved it about, though she didn’t really see the point in them. Her bonnet almost completely covered her face and it was already five o'clock. But it seemed the thing to do in London, so Chloe held her tongue and followed her very eager cousin from the room.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” Chloe inquired after her cousin.

  “Hyde Park, of course.” Lizzie accepted her own parasol from the butler. “That’s where all the fashionable people go.” She delivered this last statement as if everyone should know such a fact.

  “Well, then why am I going?”

  Lizzie turned on the spot and leveled Chloe with a somewhat annoyed glare. “Because you are my chaperone and you love me and you wouldn’t dare deny me the opportunity to mingle with my friends on such a delightful afternoon.”

  A conciliatory smile tugged at Chloe’s lips. She and her cousin could not have been more different if they tried. But she did love Lizzie, even for all her social climbing and city ways, and did not wish to upset her.