A hand came down on her arm and she jumped at the contact. She looked over to see Michael regarding her with familiar eyes. My, they really did look so much alike. It was hard to believe it was Michael she stared back at and not his brother. He had clearly gone for a haircut that afternoon after the party and now he looked more like his twin than ever.
“Would you like to get some air with me, Mrs. Hawthorne?” he asked.
Air? They’d just arrived, and the opera was only in its first act. Why on earth did he want to leave already?
A peal of laughter from her cousin broke into her thoughts and sent waves of jealousy coursing through her. She had done the right thing, she knew, but she didn’t know then that it would hurt so much to watch her with him.
Goodness, this was completely backward! How could she be jealous of something that was never hers to begin with?
“Yes,” she finally replied. “Air would be lovely.”
Twelve
Chloe darted out of the box, and Andrew was quick on her heels. It occurred to him briefly that it might not be entirely appropriate to be alone with her in the corridor, but he shrugged it off. She was a widow and chaperone, and it wasn’t as if she had any reputation to maintain. She’d barely been in London a week.
Her steps were quick and agitated as she paced back and forth in the hall. Clearly she was still mad at him for that afternoon. But she wanted him, that much was clear. The way she looked at Michael, thinking he was him, was enough to tip off even the most oblivious nodcock to her feelings.
Yet another thing to endear her to him. Gently bred ladies had a way of masking themselves, assuming that was what every man wanted—an emotionless woman, who wouldn't trouble them with silly notions like love or affection. But Chloe was an open book, regardless of how hard she tried not to be.
“Are you all right?” he inquired, remembering that he was supposed to be Michael.
She stopped pacing and looked up at him. For a moment, he thought she might have realized it was him and not Michael who stood before her, but then she looked away again and shook her head.
“Yes,” she said, her tone clipped. “I just...”
“What?” He wanted to know.
She took a moment, obviously contemplating whether she should confide in him, and then shook her head again. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Do you mind if we just stay out here for a few minutes?”
Andrew sauntered closer to her. “I don’t mind at all.” He dropped his voice to what he imagined was a sultry baritone, hoping to clue her in to the truth without actually telling her.
She met his gaze, and he tried to speak with his eyes what he did not want to say. And then her mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Andrew quirked his brow. “What do you mean?”
Chloe let out an annoyed grunt. “You and your brother are both despicable! With your eyebrow and your smiles and seductions.”
“Seductions?” She clearly had not caught on to their game.
“Yes, seductions.”
“Do you mean to say that my brother has...approached you?”
She looked so conflicted as to whether or not she should answer him, and he couldn’t blame her. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t so sure he would appreciate her sharing such things with Michael, if he were in fact Michael. But the fact of the matter was that he was Andrew, and he wanted to know what she was thinking. Perhaps if he acted more like a friend than a pursuer, he could find out the truth.
He looked at her and took a deep breath. “Chloe, you can tell me. I swear I won’t say anything to him. But you seem rather distraught.”
She nodded and looked away from him again. God, she was beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her just then. To peel that powder blue gown from her shoulders and—
“He tried to kiss me this afternoon,” she finally admitted with a heavy sigh.
Andrew feigned surprise. “He what? Is that why you two were missing from the game?”
“Yes, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel so guilty every time I look at Lizzie, but...”
She trailed off and her expression grew pained. How he wanted to kiss away that pain. But the truth was that he was pained too. Conflicted, and for the same reasons. She didn’t even have to finish her sentence, because he knew exactly how she felt.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she continued. “Because he is engaged to my cousin, and no matter what I feel for Andrew, I feel a hundred times more for Lizzie. And I think, despite what I thought before, that Elizabeth might actually care for Andrew. I could never betray her.”
So there it was. Andrew didn’t stand a chance as long as he was engaged to Elizabeth. However, Chloe had it wrong. How could Elizabeth care for him while she was running amuck, kissing other men? He had to find a way to break it off. Chloe would never agree to an affair—that much she had already made clear—but would she agree even if their engagement were broken?
Certainly, if he broke it off, Elizabeth would be ruined and then Chloe would have to hate him forever. But perhaps he could persuade Elizabeth into breaking it off herself.
“You won’t say anything, will you?”
He looked up into Chloe’s brown eyes, wishing he could tell her, but knowing it wasn’t the right time. “Of course not.”
***
Chloe stared back at the man in front of her, wondering why she had decided to confide in him. Goodness, he looked just like Andrew. Well, some of the time anyhow. Like now. The way he dragged his hand through his dark hair.
Their parents must have had a time telling them apart as children. It wasn’t so difficult now. They both had their own very distinct personalities. Andrew was more apt to brood, while Michael’s face was warm and open.
But at first blush, one could easily mistake one for the other.
“Are you ready to go back in?” Michael asked.
She hadn’t realized how quiet it had become in the hall until he spoke.
“Yes.” She nodded, although she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to go back to the box. By the sound of it, the famed Madame Pizzarelli was struggling with her voice this evening. “Does she always sound like that?” she wondered aloud.
Michael’s lips broke into a grin. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then perhaps we should wait until after her air is finished.”
Michael’s hearty laugh gave Chloe pause. They even had the same laugh. And the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled...
No. It couldn’t have been. They would never do anything so foolish as to trade places, especially in a public setting. How cruel that would be to Lizzie and herself if they ever did such a thing.
But the thought that it could be Andrew standing in front of her, alone in the hallway, sent desire shooting straight through her.
She tamped it down. They were twins—identical twins. How absurd of her to begin lusting after Andrew’s brother.
Thankfully, the aria came to an end just as Chloe was on the brink of inquiring as to Michael’s true identity. She did not relish making a fool of herself so soon into the Season.
They walked back through the velvet curtains, and Michael stood behind her as she took her seat, before sitting down himself. Chloe settled in and tried to look at the stage and not Andrew.
But curiosity had gotten the better of her. She wanted to know if they had indeed switched places. She remembered that Andrew had a small freckle on his neck, just below his right earlobe. Blast it, she should have checked while they were out in the hall.
Now, both of them sat to her right. There was no way to tell them apart without making a scene.
Unless...
“Lord Michael,” she leaned in to whisper. “Would you mind trading seats with me? I’m having a devil of time seeing the...ah...”
Lord, but this was a weak excuse. She had a perfect view of the entire stage. But Michael did not even wait for an exp
lanation. He jumped from his seat and stepped aside so she could move into it. Then he took her seat on the left.
Perfect. This would be simple now. All she had to do was turn and offer her thanks and try to catch a glimpse of the freckle. But when she turned to face him, he already faced her, obscuring her view of his neck.
Blast him.
“Is that better, Mrs. Hawthorne?” he asked with a roguish smile.
Chloe returned his smile with a tight one of her own. “Much,” she replied and then turned back to the stage, now obstructed by Andrew’s perfect head of hair.
All right. What next? Perhaps if she pretended to drop something to her right. Then she would have an excuse to lean close to Michael’s head. Surreptitiously, she knocked her fan to the floor. It made a loud thud, drawing the attention of those in her party. Chloe was hopeful when Michael turned his head to the right and leaned down to retrieve her fan.
But all hope was lost when she realized his collar sat far too high on his neck this evening for her to see if the freckle was there.
Blast him!
She sat back in her chair with a loud sigh, feeling defeated and not just a little foolish. What was the matter with her? Grown men such as Andrew and Michael would never play such a foolish game. What would it gain them anyhow? It didn’t change the fact that Andrew was engaged to Lizzie. Surely, when the time came, if they had in fact switched identities, they could not pull such a scheme off all the way to the altar.
No, she would just have to trust them. So, she put her suspicions aside for the evening and settled in to listen to the rest of the opera.
It was too bad the Company was not really worth listening to.
***
At three o’clock that morning, Chloe sat bolt upright in her bed. Her face was dampened with sweat, and her breath came fast and heavy. She clutched the covers to her chest as she tried to make sense of her realization and why she hadn’t realized it before. Her suspicions had been right all along. That blackguard! How dare he try to pull such a scheme? What did he hope to accomplish, she wondered? Surely, he didn’t think her so naïve as to not realize their game. And surely he didn’t think she was going to go along with it.
If it weren’t the middle of the night, she would have marched right down to Berwick Street and given him what for. As it was, she would simply have to wait until morning.
Thirteen
Chloe didn’t fall asleep until it was near to dawn, but at a quarter past nine, she sat up with a start. Her mind flashed back to the previous night and her discovery. In the light of day it seemed so absurd that she wondered if she’d actually dreamt the whole thing.
She shook her head. No, she certainly had not dreamt it. The Wetherby twins had switched places and Andrew had made one fatal mistake—one that Chloe kicked herself for not realizing in the moment.
She sat down at her writing desk, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. She dipped her pen in the ink and set it to the paper, but she’d not even finished her curt salutation before Lizzie burst through the door.
“Are you excited?” she asked, a smiled pasted on her face.
“Of course,” Chloe replied, wanting to match her cousin’s enthusiasm, but knowing she fell rather short. She just wanted to pen her note and be done with it.
“Which do you think is best with this dress?” Lizzie brandished two ribbons and Chloe had to squint to make sure of what she was seeing.
“They’re the same color,” she said.
One would have thought she’d declared that water wasn’t wet, the way Lizzie regarded her, but it was true. They were both yellow and both the exact same shade.
“They most certainly are not!” Lizzie held them up to examine them more closely. “Look, this one is clearly lemon and this one—” she shoved the second one out, nearly smacking Chloe in the nose “—chartreuse.”
The last was said with a French accent and an air of superiority. Chloe rolled her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie, I would love to help,” she said, “but I just don’t see the difference.”
Frustrated, Lizzie stomped from the room and closed the door. Chloe turned immediately back to her letter.
Lord Andrew,
I’m not exactly sure what you and your brother
are playing at, but rest assured, your secret is
no longer a secret. Furthermore, I must ask you to
disregard anything
“What about this one?”
Chloe nearly jumped out of her skin at her cousin’s voice. She hadn’t even heard her open the door.
“Good heavens, Lizzie, you frightened me half to death.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly, and then held up yet another yellow ribbon. “Do you like this one more than the other two?”
“How many yellow ribbons do you own, Lizzie?” Chloe asked as she shifted her body to block her cousin's view of the letter.
Lizzie shrugged and said, “I don’t know...seven, eight?”
Sensing she might be asked to look at the four or five others if she didn’t give a good enough answer, Chloe decided to indulge her cousin. In an attempt to get her cousin as far away from the desk as possible, Chloe stood up and dragged Lizzie toward the window, under the auspices of needing more light to give a fair assessment to the yellow ribbons.
“Well, I do like this one—far better than the other two, actually.” She plucked it from Lizzie’s hand and held it up against her hair. “Yes, yes, this is definitely the one.”
Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“There is no doubt in my mind!” Just get out!
“All right, then.”
And without so much as a thank you, Lizzie bounded out of the room again. Chloe practically ran back to her desk and sat down to write again. She wrote one word before Lizzie burst through the door, the remaining yellow ribbons draped over her arm.
Clearly there were forces at work to try and prevent her from writing that letter to Andrew. Admitting defeat, she crumpled the half-written note and tossed it into the bin, then set to the task of finding the perfect yellow ribbon for Lizzie.
By afternoon, Chloe found herself firmly ensconced in the bosom of the Wetherby family. It seemed that any woman who had anything at all to do with the family decided to join them on their shopping excursion.
In addition to the three she was already acquainted with, Lady Eastleigh’s mother-in-law, the dowager marchioness, as well as her own mother, Lady Grimsby, joined in the fun. At least, what they deemed to be fun. Chloe didn’t mind shopping, but being measured and fitted by strange women was a bit unnerving.
They arrived at a dressmaker's shop in what Lizzie assured her was the most fashionable part of town, which Chloe was sure equated to the most expensive part of town. And with a name like Madame le Riche, what was one to expect?
The little maid, called Sophie, saw to the welfare of the ladies with tea and biscuits while the dressmaker herself took Chloe behind a curtain and demanded she strip down to her chemise and drawers. Chloe did as she was bid, but when Madame le Riche gasped at her underclothing, a blush rose to Chloe’s cheeks.
She knew her nether clothes were a bit worse for the wear, but they could not have been that bad.
“My dear,” the woman began in a thick, French accent, “the first law of fashion is that the dress is only as good as what is underneath.”
She tsked a few times to further express her distaste and then called for her assistant. They spoke in rapid French while drawing a string around various parts of Chloe’s body, and making notes in a small, leather-bound book. Chloe felt like a sparrow caught in a squall.
What was the meaning of all this anyhow? She had unearthed all of her old dresses, and Sarah had pressed and darned them until they were like new. So why was she here?
From behind the screen, she could hear the other women laughing and talking, having a veritable teatime while she was poked and prodded by an army of seamstresses.
“Oh, this one would look lovely on her petite frame, don't you think?”
“Absolutely! In a rich green.”
“Or this in blue?”
“Chloe looks lovely in blue!”
Oh, dear! They were plotting out all sorts of additions to her wardrobe. Who was going to pay for all this? She certainly didn’t have the funds, and she was sure Uncle Arthur would not be keen on buying a new wardrobe for his daughter’s chaperone.
Oh, goodness, what if Lizzie meant to pay out of her pin money? She couldn’t let her cousin do such a thing.
“Lizzie?” she called sweetly through the curtain.
The laughter stopped and Lizzie’s feet came running towards her. “Yes?” she asked, peeking around the screen.
Chloe waited for the chatter to resume so she could ask Lizzie about payment. “Lizzie, I haven’t the funds to pay for this shopping trip. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” her cousin replied with a sweet smile.
“Oh, Lizzie, I can’t have you spending your own allowance on me-²
“But I’m not.”
Chloe blinked up at her cousin. “Then, who?”
A wide smile broke out on Lizzie’s face. “I’m not at liberty to say, dear cousin, but your benefactor assures me it is of little consequence.”
“Little consequence?” Chloe repeated, looking about at the various silks and satins that had accumulated around her. “This trousseau could cost a small fortune.”
Lizzie laughed, a lilting, sweet laugh. “Perhaps to you it is a small fortune, but for some...oh, do not worry so much, Chloe! It is a gift and the giver will not take no for an answer.”
With that Lizzie disappeared behind the curtain and rejoined the ladies. A great deal of whispering ensued, and Chloe vowed she would throttle her dear cousin should she relay any of what they’d just discussed. But within moments, the chatter resumed at its normal volume.
The Wary Widow Page 10