Merry Widows 02: Just One Of Those Flings

by Candice Hern

  Georgiana came over and Beatrice made the introductions. The sound of new arrivals and departures recalled her to her duties as a hostess, however. "Please do not allow my girls to monopolize you, gentlemen. Georgiana, five minutes. Do you understand me? No more than five minutes, then allow Lord Thayne and Mr. Burnett to take their leave of you."

  Beatrice caught Gabriel's eye and smiled ruefully. He returned her smile and nodded. He was being an awfully good sport. Charlotte could be wearying in her enthusiasm. He seemed pleased, though, to spend time with her girls. Or maybe it was simply a matter of not having to spend any more time with Emily.

  But he ought to have known how it would be. It was foolish of him to risk renewed expectations from Emily. And from everyone else in attendance who might spread new gossip about them. He really ought not to have come.

  Beatrice turned toward the new arrivals, pleased to see Wilhelmina, to whom she owed a great deal of thanks for last evening. She welcomed the opportunity to tell her how grateful she was. Penelope followed close behind, and then Grace, too, entered the drawing room. All the Merry Widows, save one.

  Beatrice quickly greeted other guests and bade farewell to those departing, then allowed herself to be pulled into her group of friends, each of whom seemed very excited about something. She sent a silent thank-you to Wilhelmina, who nodded, but was not given a moment to say anything before Penelope began speaking in an anxious whisper.

  "You will never guess what has happened," she said. "Never."

  "No, I never will," Beatrice said, "so you had better tell me. What is it?"

  "Marianne and Cazenove are married."

  "Married?" Beatrice smiled and shook her head. "That is surprising. But I do think they are very much in love, don't you? When did this happen?"

  "Yesterday," Wilhelmina said. "Grace was a witness."

  "Yes," Grace said, "I was there. Mr. Cazenove had procured a special license and convinced Marianne to marry him right away. It was very romantic, if you ask me. Marianne sent for me to stand up with her, and Lord Rochdale was there for Mr. Cazenove."

  "Rochdale?" Beatrice gave a little shudder. "I do not like that man. I have seen him look at Emily in a way that makes me very uneasy."

  "He looked at me that way all through the ceremony," Grace said. "It was most unsettling."

  "He flirted with you?" Penelope sounded as though such a thing were impossible, but Grace was a remarkably beautiful woman, even if she was prim to a fault.

  Grace nodded and her mouth twisted in distaste. "I suppose it comes from being the only woman in the church besides Marianne, and he couldn't very well flirt with her at such a time. He stood altogether too close, and whispered things in my ear. It was horrid, I tell you. But it was worth a bit of discomfort to see Marianne so happy. She was perfectly radiant."

  "Then I am pleased for her," Beatrice said.

  "But marriage?" Penelope said. "I thought she only meant him to be her lover. Do you not find it a bit shocking, after all we have said about not wanting to marry again? You especially, Beatrice."

  "Well, it is not me who has got married. But yes, it is rather unexpected. But I have to think they will be happy together. You can see how much he loves her. Let us wish them the best and not question Marianne's decision."

  Penelope heaved a sigh. "Well, at least we know she'll be happy in the bedroom. Remember what she told us about his lovemaking?"

  "Penelope, hush," Grace said. "That is not proper conversation for Beatrice's drawing room, especially when she has other guests."

  "Thank you, Grace. You are quite right, of course. We must keep those sorts of discussions to ourselves. And ladies, I have much to tell you in that regard."

  "No!" Penelope's face lit up like a candle. "Lord Thayne?"

  "Shh. He is right over there, talking to my daughters. So please, let us discuss it later."

  "You can be sure we will," Penelope said. "I want details, my girl, details."

  "Later," Beatrice said. "I must see to my guests now. But I will tell you this, Penelope: you were right."

  "I liked Mr. Burnett best," Charlotte said.

  The three girls and Beatrice were all sitting on Emily's bed sorting through fashion plates. It had been a busy afternoon with more guests than usual, and Beatrice was fatigued. But her daughters, especially Charlotte, were still agog with all the people they'd met. Georgie was a bit dazzled at having met the Duchess of Doncaster, though the fact that her own mother was a countess did not seem to impress her much.

  "I thought Lord Ushworth was rather nice," Georgie said. "And quite handsome. Do you like him, Emily?"

  Emily gave an indifferent shrug. She often affected an air of ennui when talking to her younger cousins about her social life. Beatrice was always pleased to note, however, that both of her daughters tended to ignore Emily's often superior attitude. They knew her too well and did not allow her to get away with it for long.

  "I have no particular opinion of him," Emily said, and tossed aside a few fashion plates. "I suppose he might be seen as a good catch for some people, but he is nowhere near the top of my list."

  "What about Sir Frederick Gilling?" Georgie said. "He seemed quite taken with you."

  "And he had a splendid set of watch fobs," Charlotte said. "Did you see them? One of them had an actual Roman intaglio. I was dying to ask for a closer look."

  "Thank heavens you had the good sense not to do so," Beatrice said. The image of her daughter reaching for a man's watch fob, which hung below his waist, was enough to induce palpitations.

  "And what of Mr. Jekyll?" Georgie asked.

  "He's too short," Charlotte said. She picked up the discarded fashion plates and thumbed through them. "I still like Mr. Burnett best."

  "He is very tall," Georgie said. "And has a wonderful smile."

  "He certainly does," Beatrice said, pleased to champion the charming young man. Gabriel had assured her that Mr. Burnett was in possession of a tidy fortune, despite his position as the younger son of an earl. Such were the benefits of India. Ophelia might prefer a grand title for her daughter, but in the end it was the fortune that mattered. "I should think most girls would swoon to have Mr. Burnett's smile turned on them."

  "Mr. Burnett does not make me swoon," Emily said. "He is too much of a tease. Not at all a serious gentleman."

  But he's ridden an elephant," Georgie said, grinning at Charlotte. "How many gentlemen do you know who can claim that?"

  "Well, there's Lord Thayne, of course," Charlotte said.

  "Oh, my, but he is handsome," Georgie said in a whistful tone than sent a shudder down Beatrice's spine. "Surely the most handsome of all the gentlemen we met today. Do you not think so, Emily?"

  "I suppose so."

  Beatrice gaped at Emily. She supposed so?

  "I think he's positively divine," Georgie said. Even handsomer than you said he was. I can see why he is considered the catch of the Season. I do think it would be exceedingly romantic if you married him, Emily."

  Beatrice picked up another stack of fashion plates and pretended to study them. She did not like the direction of this conversation. To hear her own daughter describe Gabriel as divine—Gabriel, the man who had just the night before held Beatrice naked in his arms—was almost more than she could bear.

  Emily held up a fashion plate showing an evening frock with a demitrain. "This one," she said, and handed it to Beatrice. "Yes, Lord Thayne is handsome enough, but the more I see of him, the more I wonder what all the fuss is about. There are handsomer men, taller men, probably richer men, too."

  "I thought he was at the top of your list," Charlotte said. "He is a marquess, after all, the heir to a duke."

  "Yes, but I have discovered that I cannot like him. I find him rather tiresome, and excessively dull."

  "Dull?" Charlotte squealed. "He's been in India and ridden elephants. How is that dull?"

  Emily shrugged and handed Beatrice another fashion plate. "I like this pelisse," she said. "And I am s
orry, Charlotte, but I have no interest in elephants. Perhaps if Lord Thayne is still looking for a bride when you grow up, he will marry you, and you can ride off on an elephant together."

  "I should like that," Charlotte said, quite seriously.

  "Well, I should not," Beatrice said with feeling. It seemed that she no longer had to worry about Emily and Gabriel, thank God, but the last thing she needed was for one of her own daughters to pine after him. "He is too old for you, my girl, and will be even more so by the time you are ready for your come-out."

  "Yes, I know," Charlotte said. "He is faaaar too old. I was only joking, anyway. And I still like Mr. Burnett best."

  Beatrice rose from the bed and straightened her skirts. "You are seduced by the exotic, my love. I fear an ordinary country gentleman will never do for you."

  "Never!" Charlotte burst into giggles.

  "What about this one?" Charlotte asked, holding out a fashion plate with a bold-colored opera dress.

  Emily took one look at it and shuddered in horror.

  "That would not suit Emily," Georgie said. "Those colors would not look at all well on her."

  "Thank you, Georgie," Emily said, nodding an acknowledgment to her cousin. "I declare, I despair of you, Charlotte. If you cannot see how that shade would not suit my coloring, how on earth will you ever pick out your own dresses? That red hair will always be a trial, you know."

  "Mama will teach me," Charlotte said. "She has the same coloring. Sort of."

  "Still, you will need to take care," Emily said. "You cannot afford to wear something that does not flatter you."

  Charlotte snorted. "You think because I am not beautiful that I will need all the help I can get."

  "We should all dress in styles and colors that flatter us," Georgie said.

  Emily smiled. Georgie was by far the prettier of the two, with coloring closer to her own, but always made sure that the fact was not tossed in poor Charlotte's face too often. She was very protective of her younger sister, though if there was ever a person who did not need protecting, it was Charlotte.

  "You needn't worry about me," Charlotte said. After her mother had left she had stretched out on the bed, lying on her stomach with her knees bent and her feet stuck in the air. "You may have been born beautiful, but I will grow into my looks. Mama says so. She says I look just as she did at my age, but that eventually my freckles will fade and my body will fill out and maybe I'll look like her one day. I hope so. I think Mama is the most beautiful woman in all of London."

  Emily laughed. "For an older woman, she is indeed very handsome." And besides, she would like to have added, everyone knows that I am the most beautiful woman in London.

  "For any age," Charlotte said. "Don't you notice how certain gentlemen look at her?"

  "No, I cannot say that I have noticed," Emily said. What a silly girl, to think that men would be attracted to a woman her aunt's age.

  "Didn't you notice, Georgie? Today, I mean, when all those gentlemen were here."

  "I don't know, Charlotte. I was too nervous around so many people to notice much. The Duchess of Doncaster, for heaven's sake. She's practically royal."

  "Well, I noticed," Charlotte said. "And if you had been paying attention, Cousin, you might have figured out why Lord Thayne is not interested in you."

  Emily gave a contemptuous sniff. Not interested in her? What did it matter? She did not care two figs for Lord Thayne. He was practically rude to her today. Not that he'd ever been the least bit warm. He'd been polite, but little more. She had no time for a man who did not appreciate her.

  "Since I am not interested in Lord Thayne," she said, "whatever you have figured out is of no consequence to me."

  "That's a good thing, then," Charlotte said, "since he is completely besotted with Mama."

  What? Emily's mouth dropped open and she glared at her cousin.

  "Don't be a goose, Charlotte," Georgie said. "That's just silly."

  "It is not silly. It's true."

  "It is perfectly silly," Emily said, chuckling softly. "Your mother may be attractive, but she's old. A man like Lord Thayne would never in ten million years be besotted with Aunt Beatrice. It's . . . ridiculous." She started to laugh, and Georgie joined her. Soon, they had both fallen back on the bed, laughing so hard that tears poured down their cheeks.

  Charlotte sat up, leaned against the bedpost, and crossed her arms over her thin chest. She screwed her face into such a frown that it made them laugh even harder.

  Aunt Beatrice and Lord Thayne? Truly, it was the funniest thing Emily had ever heard.

  Chapter 11

  He saw her everywhere. Their level of Society was exclusive enough that one tended to see the same people at almost every event. Even if Thayne had wanted to avoid Beatrice, which he did not, it would have been difficult to do so. He was ostensibly looking for a bride, so he attended events where he could meet and spend time with eligible young women. And she was chaperoning a young woman looking for a husband. They were bound to meet each other now and then. As it happened, they met frequently.

  And not just at ton events. With the help of the Duchess of Hertford, Thayne had orchestrated two more nights in Beatrice's arms. It was a complicated business, though. Besides devising excuses for Beatrice to absent herself from whatever event her niece was scheduled to attend, they had to contrive increasingly complex ways to avoid being seen together. They arrived at the duchess's house separately, and departed at different times.

  Despite the hoops they jumped through in order to be together, the time spent making love with her was worth the effort. Beatrice was a superb bed partner, uninhibited and adventurous. He had taught her many of the positions and movements he'd learned from some of the best ganika in India, and she had been more than willing to experiment.

  He was grateful for his aristocratic upbringing, that steely reserve bred into him from boyhood that allowed him to see her at ton events and, with little effort, pretend there was nothing between them. He did his best to ignore her entirely, since to do otherwise also brought him into Emily's orbit, and he wanted to avoid any hint of a possible future there.

  Fortunately, Emily seemed to have given up the chase. She was as cool toward Thayne as he was toward her. In fact, she made something of a show of her disdain for him, making it obvious to everyone that she had not the least interest in him. Beatrice had been right about the girl, apparently. She did not wish for anyone to imagine she harbored a partiality that was not returned. It would be too lowering to her vanity.

  Even so, Beatrice was even more determined that their affair remain a secret. As a trustee of an important charity, she had a reputation to maintain, and she guarded it fiercely. She kept an impressively cool demeanor around him, even when he knew she must be thinking of the same thing that never left his mind: when would they make love again?

  He often wondered, though, if they were both fooling themselves, and their desire for each other was plain to everyone who saw them.

  It was sometimes amusing to see Emily and Beatrice at various events, each of them flaunting their indifference for him, but for very different reasons. What would the niece think if she knew the truth about Thayne and her aunt? Which one of them would she want to murder first?

  And there was the dratted bridal quest hanging over him like a dark cloud. His mother had got a bee in her bonnet that he should be ready to announce his betrothal at the Widows Fund masquerade ball to be held at Doncaster House at the end of June. She thought it a very cunning notion to unveil such an announcement just at the moment when the masks were removed at midnight.

  Thayne was willing to cooperate, if only he could manage to narrow the field and fix his interest on one particular young woman. But his heart was not in the quest. He almost did not care whom he married, so long as she was suitable, reasonably biddable, and not painful to look at. But so far he had been unable, or unwilling, to single out a candidate or two, though his mother was relentless in her questioning and prodding. He
could not disabuse her of the idea of a masquerade announcement, and so she persisted in pressing him to make a decision. She had even gone so far as to show up at several balls, something she rarely did since his sisters had all been fired off.

  "I do not want to see you disappearing into the card room with the duke," she had told him the first time she had unexpectedly appeared at a ball. Thayne's father, who suffered such events only because he could count on a spot of cards to make the evening pass, had already gone in search of the games. "You can gamble at your club," his mother had said, "but a ball is for meeting young women and getting to know them better. Dancing allows you to see how gracefully a girl moves, how comfortable she is with other people, even how good her conversation is." She poked him, actually poked him in the chest with a finger, and said, "That is why I keep thrusting all these ball invitations at you, my boy. There is no better place to meet your future bride, and since you will not have Miss Thirkill, you must find someone else. And soon. Now, stop this idiotic standing about and dance with someone."