The Frenchman's Widow

by Eliza Lloyd

  Jack had received few guests since Catherine’s passing, so he was surprised when, on the day of his return, a servant entered the library carrying a salver with a card from Colonel Lundquist.

  “Show him in.”

  An unexpected guest to be sure, but the Colonel was well liked and had a close association with Jack’s father. Jack stood waiting, but his thoughts were scattered already and a guest wasn’t going to take Jack’s mind off the trip to Brighton. No, not a trip. A new beginning.

  “Jack, my boy. How are you?” the Colonel’s voice boomed when he walked into the room. He leaned against a sturdy cane. Colonel William Lundquist still wore muttonchops, a remnant of his time at war, but Jack hadn’t seen him since his father had died. The Colonel diligently managed his business pursuits and rarely bothered with the limited social circle which intersected with that of ton nobles.

  “I am well.” Jack waved a hand and they strolled toward the seats near the sunny side of the room.

  “And your mother?” the Colonel asked as he took a seat.

  “We just returned from Bath this week. Her doctor recommended a prolonged stay.”

  “I can’t imagine it wasn’t good for the whole family.”

  The boys had been kept busy with daily walks along the Pulteney Bridge and hours upon hours in the local parks. He was often reminded he was supposed to be mourning, but his days had been spent in relaxed contemplation of his future.

  Or rather one specific aspect of it. And she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Not until he could devote his entire being to Imogene.

  There were the usual pleasantries and Jack offered the Colonel a drink. “What can I do for you, Colonel?”

  “I’ve a business proposition for you, Prescott. One that will make you an extremely wealthy man.”

  Wealth wasn’t something a man in Jack’s position ignored. The making of money was a titled gentleman’s life work—for him and those whom he supported. Neither he nor father had been as good at it as Jack’s grandfather, so no reasonable prospect could be declined out of hand.

  “Railroads? Thank you, but I’ve heard all of the promises and I’d like to keep what I have.”

  “It’s much simpler than you might imagine. And I believe the tide is turning on bad railroad investments. Of course, that is only my opinion. No, indeed, you could say what I am offering is not only a sound investment, but a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Jack lifted his drink. “Well, now I am curious.”

  “I don’t need to tell you that I have been rather successful the past thirty years and I have something to offer a young man like you, that would not only make you extraordinarily wealthy, but happy as well. It can’t be easy being alone and raising two sons.”

  “I have servants.”

  “I was talking about a wife, Prescott. Marjorie would make a fine countess and I’ve always had it in my heart to see that at least one of my children would marry well. I want my money to have counted for something, and if I can’t buy blue blood for myself, I can do it for my grandchildren.”

  Jack kept his expression neutral, but his curiosity got the best of him. “So you will dower Marjorie with a prize so tempting...”

  “Even an earl cannot say no.”

  “I can name five titles more in need of a wife than I.” And more in need of the money.

  “That is the thing. Marjorie has set her heart on you.”

  “Me? What have I done? I can assure you, I am not casting about for a new wife. I will be in mourning for several more months, and there is Catherine’s family to consider.” Catherine was suspicious of every woman who came near him. Had she suspected Marjorie of ulterior motives?

  “Marjorie is well aware of appearances. I am proposing a private agreement that would be announced only after your mourning is complete. That way there would be plenty of time to socialize and ease Marjorie into the Beau Monde.”

  “You’ve thought this through.”

  Jack should stop asking questions. He was only encouraging the Colonel to continue his hopeful quest when Jack had no intention of taking a wife.

  “Marjorie is a beautiful girl and would make an excellent wife.”

  “Colonel—“

  “And her dowry will be over one hundred thousand pounds, with no restrictions. Of course, I would expect you to be generous with her pin money.”

  “Of course. And what does Miss Lundquist think of this arrangement?”

  “As I said, she favors you. I don’t believe there is a single impediment to such an advantageous contract.”

  Only Imogene.

  Jack pushed to his feet and strolled toward the sideboard, pouring himself another drink. “Colonel Lundquist, I know my father respected you greatly, but I can’t accept.”

  “You have objections to Marjorie? Or the money?”

  Jack smiled. “Neither.” He couldn’t say aloud that his affections were otherwise engaged. A man in mourning didn’t proclaim his love for another woman so soon after his wife had died.

  “Then it is Catherine. You loved her. I understand. That is why we only need come to an agreement now. The announcement can wait. And it can wait as long as you think necessary.”

  Jack closed his eyes, knowing he was about to disappoint the Colonel, and it was only the harder for his past friendship with Father.

  “I must decline, and by no means is it a reflection of my esteem for you, Miss Lundquist or your family. Circumstances are more complicated than they might seem from the outside.”

  Colonel Lundquist sipped at his drink then swirled the liquid in his cup, thinking of some counter argument. “Lord Prescott, I have waited for such an opportunity for many years.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Well then.” The Colonel set his glass aside and grunted as he stood. He leaned against his cane and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I think this will change your mind.” He handed the missive to Jack and said, “Think about it. As I said, there is no rush. I bid you a good day, Lord Prescott.”

  Jack turned the letter over to see the family seal, then glanced toward Colonel Lundquist as he exited the room. The man’s air of certainty disturbed Jack.

  “Oh, and if you find Marjorie isn’t to your liking, my youngest daughter Willa would most certainly make a man happy.” His footsteps and cane tapped down the hallway.

  Jack peeled open the letter and noticed his father’s handwriting. The churn of worry burned in his gut as a few of the words leapt out. Debt. IOU. He scanned through the document. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered.

  He walked around the desk and plopped into the chair, leaned back and glanced at the ceiling with its painted mural, not finding a moment of joy looking at the bucolic landscape. Oh, if only life were as simple as the display of frolicking children, innocent maids and clear blue skies.

  If only people did not make irrevocable decisions that affected generations, called upon another’s honor to correct it and required the forfeiture of real happiness to right wrongs. Jack swore again and closed his eyes.

  Hell, should he go to Brighton at all and disappoint Imogene a second time? Was a brief moment of happiness with her all that he would ever be allowed? And should his happiness even matter? He’d had a lifetime of ease. Imogene deserved something better in this life. And maybe life was better without him, since he only had two choices—life with Marjorie Lundquist or life as a pauper.

  Blackmail was a cursed way for a man to get what he wanted. Did the Colonel have a fistful of notes he could use willy-nilly to overpower weaker competitors? And enemies? Or was the Colonel just waiting for this one chance since Jack’s father seemed unconcerned about the legacy he left behind?

  Whose future was more important? That of his sons? Or his mistress? What about Jack’s future happiness?

  He glanced at the note again. On what could his father have squandered such a fortune? There was very little cash available to settle the debt amicably.

 
; Normally a decision like this required only one party to suffer.

  If he was forced to marry Marjorie Lundquist, he was certain he would never see Imogene again. He would not break her heart a second time.

  But he would kill the joy that had been budding in his.

  Chapter Ten

  The ball invitation arrived and her name was listed with beautiful scrolled writing. Imogene stared at it for several moments before she cracked the seal to see the date for the event was right after Epiphany.

  An invitation to a ball! Peter, Paul and Mary! An invitation for her! Mrs. Peel said an invite would be forthcoming—Imogene had not really believed it though. The Mayor’s Children’s Ball was a formal, costumed affair but not restricted to ton elites. She doubted there would be others with a background such as hers, but then, that was part of the joy of going, wasn’t it?

  Once it was decided the children would be dressed as Robin Hood’s Merry Men, Ynez worked on the simple costumes. Imogene chewed on her nail, trying to decide if she should go as Maid Marian...or Robin Hood.

  In the end, it was decided Todd would be the legendary thief—and he could not have been happier—while Lily would be Friar Tuck.

  The day of the ball, Mr. Brewster arranged for two carriages.

  “Now, I expect you to be the most well-behaved children in Brighton tonight. And when it is time to go home, there will be no crying.” Imogene stared at Lily.

  “I don’t cry.”

  Imo clucked Lily’s chin. “That’s good, because I don’t want anyone to call you Crier Tuck.”

  The children laughed. Todd vibrated with excitement, holding his bow in one hand with his quiver strapped to his back. The Mitchell girls held hands while they smiled from ear to ear as Mrs. Brewster shooed everyone toward the door.

  “Laraine, why don’t you take Lily to the privy once more?”

  “No! I want in the carriage.”

  “In a minute. Hurry now.”

  Laraine scooped up Lily and teased her with a few French words.

  What was she doing? she asked herself as Mr. Brewster assisted her into the carriage. Settling, she pressed her hand to her chest.

  There was a time when she could travel the dark streets of London without fear. Now she was to attend a ball at the glorious Royal Pavilion with the lights of a thousand candles and she was ready to shoot the cat, though she would hate to get the vomitous mess all over her costume and inside the carriage.

  “Are you ready for your first ball?” she asked Alice.

  “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t know how to dance.”

  “None of us do.” Pierre had taught her two dances—not that she felt comfortable in the arms of any other man. Dancing required trust and a lack of pride because one didn’t really know how such efforts were perceived by the crowd. She understood why the patronesses at the famed Almack’s required permission to enter, though such stringency was no longer in fashion. She would never have a voucher, but she would have this one night at the Royal Pavilion.

  Laraine hurried out of the house with Lily. Mrs. Brewster stood at the door, waving, and the carriages burst forward.

  Imogene leaned back while the children jostled for a spot at the windows. She hoped the older girls in the other carriage were a bit more constrained, but she wouldn’t blame them if they were giddy.

  There was a night long ago when she’d had a glimpse into Jack’s world, hiding atop a brick wall with Charlie at her side. Pierre’s world was different. Dinner parties weren’t so extravagant, but she’d learned those manners and conversations one had in the company of equals.

  By the time the carriages came to a stop in front of the magnificent pavilion, the children had gotten quiet. Their gazes peered wide-eyed at the spectacular building and the brightly lit exterior.

  “I wish Bwdie could see this,” Todd said.

  “Me too.”

  Mr. Brewster was there to help everyone from Imogene’s carriage and the two youngest held Imo’s hands. Laraine, Ynez and Madelina had stepped from the other carriage and Lily was squirming to get out of Laraine’s grip. In no time, Lily was running to Imogene’s side where she hid her face in Imogene’s skirts.

  Several other families congregated before they were directed to the King’s Drawing Room. The Farrell household wasn’t the only group standing with their mouths open.

  A boisterous man dressed as Father Christmas gathered the children, or at least those who weren’t afraid of him, and led them into the banqueting hall. They were mesmerized by the incredible spectacle of the hall and pushed forward by the fraught and overwhelmed masses behind them.

  “Mon dieu,” Ynez said, her hand covering her mouth. “I’ve never seen so much food.”

  “I’m gonna have me a bite of evewything,” Todd said. “And seconds.”

  Side tables were adorned with fruits cut into thin strips, carved into flowers and rounded into balls. Cheese wedges and blocks filled one table. And the meats! Cooks stood behind a long row of platters, ready to shave off a sliver of whatever delicacy a body could crave—duck, pheasant, beef, pork and veal.

  And somewhere an orchestra played. Not just a three-piece group, but a much larger ensemble.

  Imogene knew her mouth was open. The opulence! The grandeur! She had never experienced such lavish beauty, even when Pierre had arranged parties. She could now say she’d enjoyed the entire spectrum of human existence. She could die now!

  “Madame LeClerc,” Mrs. Peel called. “Hallo everyone,” she said to the group.

  The older girls all bobbed and murmured a greeting.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Peel. Thank you. I almost decided we wouldn’t come,” Imogene said with a laugh. She had grasped Mrs. Peel’s hand firmly between both of hers.

  “Well, I am so happy you did. Let me introduce you to a few people and then we’ll find you a place to sit and eat.”

  She could feel all the children press next to her. This might be England, but it was as distant as a voyage to another land.

  “Later, Father Christmas will be giving out small gifts and then the ball will begin in earnest. Perhaps we will even find a dance partner for you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. Not with—”

  “Do not worry about the children. I expect there will be bedlam at some point in the evening, but that is no excuse for you not enjoy yourself in the meantime.”

  The older girls shuttled the children to a table while Imogene floated around the room. She met the mayor and his wife, a few prominent citizens, a baron and baroness and some perfectly ordinary people from Brighton who appeared even more out of place than the Farrell clan.

  Imogene could hold her own. She’d lost the accent that marked her as uneducated. She’d used her street agility and cunning to transform into a woman who was graceful and strong.

  One man even knew Pierre, and Imogene was drawn to speak with him about her husband. A certain pride welled in her when she discussed Pierre.

  Later it was decided the children would return home. They were all red-cheeked from the warmth of the evening and the protracted excitement. Todd had proclaimed he wouldn’t eat for the next week and Lily had cried when she’d tripped on her friar’s robes.

  A young man took particular interest in Ynez. Yes, it was time for them to go home.

  Mr. Brewster had waited patiently for the group and the carriages were filled once again. Imogene waved to them and assured Mr. Brewster that she would walk home when the time came. It was Brighton, after all, and she knew how to travel the streets safely.

  Imogene found a group and squeezed into the conversation. The ball was well underway and many, many couples were on the floor dancing. Most wore costumes and simple dominos.

  “Oh, Madame LeClerc,” Mrs. Peel said. “As I promised, a dance partner.”

  Imogene turned, wearing a bright smile, only to find it frozen on her face.

  “May I present Mr. Geoffrey Shiffington. Madame Imogene LeClerc.”

  His mouth quirked u
p in a half-smile. He bowed. “Madame LeClerc.”

  “Hallo,” she said. His gaze bore into her own. She would thank God another day that the children were already gone and Lily wasn’t hanging on her skirts. If there was one thing he would never touch, it would be her daughter.

  And if he ever tried, she would kill the smirking bastard.

  * * * * *

  “Imogene Farrell.” He wagged his brow as he led her into a turn, adroitly leading and holding her a bit too close.

  To refuse Shiffington would have only been playing into his hand. She had no doubt he would shout it throughout the room if she didn’t do exactly as he said.

  Shiffington had a way of ruining the best things.

  “Do not be familiar, sir. My name is Madame LeClerc.”

  “Oh my. So proper. So where is Monsieur LeClerc? Oh, that’s right. He is dead, according to Mrs. Peel. No one to protect you, eh, Imogene?”

  “What do you want?” she huffed, as she grew dizzy with another turn and angry when his hand swept over her hip.

  “Do you want flowery prose or do you just want to know that I intend to fuck you again?”

  “You are a crude arse, you know?”

  He laughed. “You are the whore. I don’t think you get to call me names.”

  “You fucking bloody bastard, I’ll call you any name I want, but lover won’t be one of them.”

  “Do all your new friends know about your foul mouth? And your past?”

  “No one will believe you.”

  “Won’t they? Gossip has ruined many a well-placed lady. I would think a social climber such as yourself won’t be given a second thought when you disappear into obscurity. Now, let us discuss what you are going to do for me.”

  “Do you want to do it here on the dance floor?”

  He laughed again. “Why not? I always thought Jack was insane to keep you as a mistress, but I do see the appeal, especially after I purchased your favors on the day of Jack’s wedding.”

  “Do you wake up telling yourself lies? You must. No honorable man would treat his friends the way you have.”