A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Anything, my sweet. I’ll never gamble again. I’ll buy you the moon. Ask, it is yours.’

  ‘If we are going to observe all the proprieties now that we are engaged, can we get married tomorrow? I really don’t think I can wait any longer to, er...have you as my husband.’

  He looked startled. Then laughed. ‘If that is your true wish, then it shall be done. I am certainly happy not to wait. I will go to Doctors’ Commons for a special licence right after I speak to Westram.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Epilogue

  Sunbeams filtered through the window in the bedchamber where Petra and Marguerite were helping Carrie dress for her wedding. She’d chosen a simple gown of pale primrose and wore flowers made by her sisters-in-law in her hair.

  Petra retied the bow at the back of the dress. ‘That is better. Now you are perfect.’

  Strangely enough Carrie felt perfect. It was the way Avery looked at her that had made her feel that way. Avery. Today they would be wed. She could scarcely believe it.

  ‘You are sure you wish to go through with this?’ Marguerite said, her expression one of concern. ‘Do not let Westram force you into something you do not want.’

  Her palms grew damp inside her cotton gloves. This was the only part of marrying Avery she had been dreading. Saying goodbye to her sisters-in-law.

  After the ceremony she and Avery were travelling north to one of the Duke’s properties and from there, in two weeks’ time, they would move on to their new life together.

  ‘I am going to miss you both terribly,’ she said and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. ‘But I do love Avery and he loves me.’ It sounded so wonderful to say those words and to mean them and feel sure.

  ‘I should say so,’ Petra said with a teasing smile on her lips. ‘I have never seen a man so besotted as he has been these past three weeks.’

  Carrie puzzled over the words. Surely Petra’s husband—

  ‘I know,’ Marguerite said almost too briskly. ‘Yesterday Westram grumbled that he could no longer walk around the house without tripping over him.’

  Carrie chuckled. It was true. And she loved it.

  Her eyes went a little misty at the thought of Avery’s impatience to get their wedding over and done. Not that she had felt differently, but Westram had insisted there be nothing havey-cavey about the marriage and had vetoed their intention of getting a special licence.

  While their wedding was to be a small affair in the Westram town-house drawing room, everyone who ought to be invited had been, including the Duke. They had all accepted, too. Waiting three weeks for the banns to be called had been the longest weeks of Carrie’s life and yet they had also flown by, she had been so busy. Petra and Marguerite had come to town to help with the preparations and to help her shop for her trousseau. A new one. Avery wanted nothing of her first marriage to haunt the beginning of theirs. For once, she had agreed with the extravagance.

  Petra briskly twitched at Carrie’s skirts. ‘I must say, though, this bridegroom of yours is not one to let grass grow beneath his feet. The ladies in Westram village were delighted to hear they are to continue supplying the shop now that the Thrumbys have taken it over.’

  ‘I was so pleased that Thrumby agreed,’ Carrie said. ‘Tansy was thrilled, too, now she’s going to help them in the shop again. She hated being Mrs Thrumby’s chambermaid, despite being grateful for the job.’ She gave her sisters a regretful smile. ‘Now the only people my departure inconveniences are you. I feel so badly for letting you down.’

  In a flash, both girls put their arms around her and they clung together for a moment. ‘Nonsense,’ Marguerite said, her voice a little hoarse. ‘Your happiness is more important than anything. Petra and I will find a way to keep ourselves busy and earn some money to boot.’

  They drew apart. Carrie took a deep breath. ‘About that.’

  Marguerite raised a brow. ‘You know we agreed you were not to worry about such things.’

  ‘I haven’t. I promise. Avery has. He went to see Mr Thrumby and finally convinced him that since he will continue to use Marguerite’s designs, he must give you a share in the profits from them every quarter.’ She did not think it worth mentioning that Avery upon his third visit had told Thrumby what a mistake it would be to annoy the son of a duke. Avery hadn’t wanted to play the ducal card, as he had put it, but needs must. ‘Oh, and should you happen to show something you have designed to the village ladies and they make it then you are to receive a commission for that too.’

  Petra and Marguerite gasped. ‘But what about Westram?’ Marguerite said.

  ‘These are royalties, Marguerite,’ Carrie said. ‘Your name will never be attached to the shop in any way. Avery spoke to Westram and has agreed it is not the same as being in trade.’ She shook her head. ‘Though to be honest I really feel you ought to be credited with your work. And you, too, Petra, for you taught the ladies how to turn the drawings into beautiful hats.’

  Both sisters looked pleased. ‘It’s fine,’ Petra said. ‘We don’t need recognition, but we could certainly use the funds.’

  Carrie let go a breath. She hadn’t been sure the women would accept the arrangement with or without Westram’s approval.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Carrie,’ Marguerite said, giving her another hug. Petra put her arms around both of them.

  ‘It is what sisters do,’ Carrie said and received a very tight squeeze from both of hers.

  A knock sounded at the door. They broke apart, smoothing their gowns and dabbing their handkerchiefs beneath watery eyes.

  ‘The guests are all assembled, ladies,’ the butler said, smiling broadly.

  As they started down the stairs, Carrie’s heart started to pound. What if Avery wasn’t there? What if she was fooling herself and he left her right after the ceremony?

  No. Not Avery. He would never do that to her. They loved each other.

  They walked in procession across the hall and into the drawing room. At the fireplace the minister was waiting with Avery before him in a beautifully fitting dark blue coat with silver buttons and buff pantaloons. His brother standing beside him was similarly attired.

  Carrie knew the room was full of people, knew the Duke was there, and Avery’s sister, and Westram and other relatives, but she only saw Avery. It was if her vision had narrowed to encompass only him. She hesitated.

  He turned and gave her such a heartfelt welcoming look, she felt utterly beautiful. Then he was walking towards her with his hand outstretched. She reached out and took it. Together they walked to the front of the room.

  ‘Dearly beloved,’ the minister began...

  Beloved. Yes. Those words described her feelings to the full and the love and pride and joy in Avery’s face told her he felt the same way, too.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story you won’t want to miss these other great reads by Ann Lethbridge

  More Than a Lover

  Secrets of the Marriage Bed

  An Innocent Maid for the Duke

  Rescued by the Earl’s Vow

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Beauty and the Brooding Lord by Sarah Mallory.

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  Beauty and the Brooding Lord

  by Sarah Mallory

  Chapter One

  London—1816

  Serena stepped out on to the terrace. It was a warm night and the earlier rain had passed, leaving only a few small clouds scudding across the sky. She hesitated, her heart beating rapidly. She knew she was risking her reputation, but how could she know if Sir Timothy was the man for her unless they kissed? She ran lightly down the steps at the end of the terrace, where a path led away from the house to a leafy arch set between high hedges. A slight breeze ruffled her skirts and she gave a little shiver as she stepped through the arch. Surely there could be no danger in one little embrace?

  The rose garden looked very different from when she had been here a few days ago with her brother and sister-in-law, Lord and Lady Hambridge. Henry had been keen to see the paintings Lord Grindlesham was selling and, while the gentlemen went off to the gallery, his wife had shown Serena and Dorothea the gardens. Now, in the moonlight the paths gleamed pale silver and the roses themselves ranged from near black to pale blue-grey. But if the flowers had lost their colour, their scent was enhanced and Serena breathed in the heady fragrance as she made her way along the path, but when she reached the turn in the path she was aware of something else besides rose scent in the night air. A faint hint of tobacco.

  Ahead she saw an arbour surrounded by climbing roses and her heart gave a little skip. There, in the shadows, was the unmistakable figure of a man. His upper body was hidden, but his crossed legs in their light-coloured knee breeches and white silk stockings were plainly visible in the gloom. Serena had expected to find her swain pacing up and down, impatient for her to arrive, but here he was, sitting at his ease. She quashed the faint ripple of disappointment and hurried up to him, smiling.

  ‘Forgive me, I was delayed. I—’ She broke off with a gasp as she peered into the shadows. ‘You are not Sir Timothy.’

  ‘No, I am not.’

  The reply was an irritable growl. The figure rose from the seat and Serena took a hasty step backwards. She realised now that he was nothing like Sir Timothy Forsbrook. This man was much larger, for a start, although his upper body was so broad that he did not look overly tall. Where Sir Timothy’s glossy black locks were carefully styled about his head, the stranger’s hair was lighter and too long to be fashionable. And as he stepped out of the arbour she thought he was not at all handsome. In the moonlight his craggy face appeared harsh, as if he was scowling at her.

  He towered over her and she took another step away.

  ‘Excuse me—’ She would have walked on but his next words stopped her.

  ‘There was a fellow here, but he has gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Aye. He had the impudence to suggest I should vacate the seat, so I kicked him out.’

  She swallowed. ‘Literally?’

  His great shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘No. Mere jostling. He retreated rather than have my fist spoil his face.’

  She sucked in a long, indignant breath. ‘That is disgraceful behaviour. Quite boorish.’

  ‘I suppose you would have preferred me to give way. But why should I? I came out here to enjoy a cigarillo in peace. You two will have to find some other place for your lovemaking.’

  His voice dripped scorn. Serena’s face burned with mortification.

  ‘How dare you! It is nothing like that.’

  ‘No?’

  Knowing she was in the wrong did nothing for Serena’s temper. She drew herself up and said angrily, ‘You are odiously rude!’

  ‘If it’s soft words you want I suggest you go and find your lover.’

  ‘Oh, I shall go,’ she told him in a shaking voice,’ and he is not my lover.’

  He grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. ‘No need to be coy on my account, madam.’

  Serena gasped. ‘Oooh, you...you...’

  He folded his arms and looked down at her. ‘Yes?’

  For a moment she glared at him, her hands closing into fists as she tried to control her rage. It would be most undignified to rip up at him. Resisting the urge to stamp her foot, she turned and swept off, muttering angrily under her breath all the insults she would like to hurl at the odious creature.

  * * *

  Serena hurried back to the ballroom. It was half-empty, most of the guests having gone in to supper. Those who remained were talking in little groups and she prayed no one had noticed her entry, for her agitation must be evident. She slipped away to the small room set aside for the ladies, where she had earlier left her cloak and outdoor shoes. The looking glass showed that her cheeks were still flushed and her brown eyes sparkled with anger. She made a pretence of tidying her hair, although in truth her honey-gold curls were remarkably in place.

  Really, she thought indignantly, it was most frustrating. All she wanted to do was to find an interesting husband, one who would not bore her silly within a week, like the exceedingly correct suitors her half-brothers insisted upon presenting to her. These respectable gentlemen were to be her dancing partners for the whole evening, which was the reason Henry and Dorothea had thought it safe to go off to the card room and allow Serena out of their sight. But a short break in the dancing had given Serena the opportunity to slip out and meet one whom she knew to be a rake and who was therefore much more interesting.

  Serena remained in the retiring room until her indignation had died away, then she shook out her skirts, put up her head and sailed downstairs to the supper room where she found her brother and sister-in-law enjoying a cold collation in the far corner. Nearer at hand, Elizabeth Downing and her brother were part of a lively group gathered about one of the larger tables. Elizabeth waved and Serena walked over. Immediately Jack Downing sprang up and pulled out a chair for her, then he proceeded to hover solicitously until Serena had been provided with a plate of delicacies and a glass of wine.

  After the incident in the rose garden such attention was balm to Serena’s spirits. Mr Downing was a serious young man whom she had previously apostrophised as stuffy, but at least he was not rude. She now thanked him prettily and allowed him to engage her in conversation until the musicians could be heard tuning up again and everyone began to drift back to the ballroom.

  The dancing recommenced and Serena looked around for Sir Timothy. Imagining his ignominious departure from the rose garden, she was not surprised to learn that he had gone home, but she felt no sympathy for him. She wished he had come to blows with the rude stranger and knocked him down rather than walking off and leaving her to endure a most unpleasant encounter. However, when she recalled the size of the stranger, she doubted Sir Timothy would have got the better of him.

  * * *

  The evening was proving to be exceedingly tedious and after a couple of dances Serena excused herself and went in search of her sister-in-law.

  ‘What, you wish to leave, before the dancing is ended?’ Lady Hambridge gave the loud, irritating laugh that announced she had enjoyed too much wine this evening. She shook her head at Serena and said playfully, ‘This is most unl
ike you, Serena! No, no, we cannot go yet, for you are engaged to stand up with Lord Afton. I should be failing in my duty if I were to take you away before he has danced with you.’

  Viscount Afton was the highest-ranking bachelor at this evening’s ball. Serena thought him dull, pompous and old enough to be her grandfather, but it would do no good to say as much to her sister-in-law, so when the time came she pinned on a smile and went off to dance the quadrille. As the dance ended she spotted a familiar figure at the side of the room. She touched Lord Afton’s arm.

  ‘Tell me, my lord, do you know that gentleman, the large man talking to Lord Grindlesham?’

  ‘What’s that, m’dear?’ The Viscount looked about him and gave a disdainful grunt. ‘Do you mean that great bear of a man? That’s Lord Quinn. Damned unpleasant fellow. No one likes him.’

  She was pleased that Lord Afton shared her opinion of the stranger from the rose garden, but curious, too.

  ‘If that is the case, why is he invited?’

  ‘Rich as Croesus,’ he replied shortly. ‘He don’t often show his face in town, but Grindlesham is selling off his art collection and that will be the reason he is come. Rufus Quinn is considered to be something of a connoisseur, I believe.’ He huffed. ‘Well, he can afford to indulge himself.’

  There was a bitter note in the viscount’s tone, but since it was well known that Lord Afton had little fortune, it did not surprise Serena. As he led her back to join Dorothea and Henry, she took the opportunity to study Lord Quinn from a safe distance. In the blaze of candlelight, it was clear to see that he was no arbiter of fashion. His coat of dark blue superfine fitted well enough across his impressive shoulders, but no servant was needed to ease him into it and the simple arrangement of his neckcloth would not rouse envy in the breast of any aspiring dandy. His brown hair was not brushed into artful disorder; it was positively untidy. His face was rugged, his nose not quite straight and his brow fierce. He looked impatient and she already knew his manners were abominable. All in all, Serena decided, he was a man not worthy of her attention.