The Wary Widow (7 page)

“I'm not in any particular mood. Why don't you surprise me?” He gave her a wink and then climbed the stairs to his usual room.

It was a small room, warmed by a crackling fire, decorated in dark blue and brown. It was plush, yet masculine, and he thought he might like it even more than his own room at home.

He undid his cravat and tossed it aside, then proceeded to lose the rest of his clothing until he was nearly nude, ready for whatever little tart Madam Stone would send through his door. Only a few moments passed before he heard a scratch and then the door opened to reveal a girl of average proportions with flowing blond hair. She had a sweet face and a wicked glimmer in her eye, and Andrew grew immediately hard.

“Come in,” he encouraged.

She did, and shut the door behind her. As she walked toward him, he noticed the way she swayed, her hips swinging, her arms hanging loosely by her sides.
Dammit
, it reminded him of someone. Not just anyone, though. She reminded him of Elizabeth. As she grew closer, it became evident that her hair was of an exact color, her eyes a very similar blue. His ardor died quickly, and the girl was well aware.

“I do not please you, my lord?” she said with a thick Russian accent.

“Ahem, goodness, no. You are quite lovely. It's just that...well, you remind me of the woman I came here trying to forget.”

A small smile broke out on the girl's lips, for she was merely a girl.
Too young for his taste anyhow.

“I'm sorry, but I must decline your services. I will ring for the madam and explain.”

He sent the girl away and rang for Madam Stone. She arrived at his door within moments—he'd barely had time to tie the rope of his dressing gown—a look of utter concern on her brow.

“What has happened, my lord? Did she say something that was not to your liking? Or was it her breasts?
Too small?
Oh, goodness, my apologies, Lord Andrew.”

“No, no.” He held up a hand to stop her. “None of that. She's
just
a little young, that's all. Might you send someone a bit further along in years?”

“Ah, hah! An experienced woman is what you're looking for this evening. I've got just the one. You wait here. She'll be along shortly.”

Madam Stone left the room, leaving behind a cloud of cheap perfume, and Andrew settled onto the edge of the bed to wait. The woman worked fast, for it seemed that barely a minute had passed when the scratch came at the door and another girl walked in.

Andrew's mouth went dry. Good Lord, what the hell was wrong with him? And damn Madam Stone for sending him women that looked precisely like the ones he wanted to forget about tonight.

Curly red hair tumbled over a pair of rather large breasts and tapered where her waist drew in, just before her voluptuous hips curved outward. Though her body was nothing like the petite Mrs. Hawthorne, her hair and skin were far too close a match for his taste. However, unlike his loss of ardor with the blonde, his sex raged beneath his dressing gown at the sight of this redhead.
 

Deuce take it, he couldn’t do it! Andrew knew he had to get out of there, for he could have tousled with that girl all night, imagining her to be Mrs. Hawthorne, and that just wasn't proper for a man who was engaged to another.

Less than an hour after his arrival to Madam Stone's, he marched into the street and turned towards home. He was in a rather uncomfortable state, physically stiff and mentally dumbfounded. There was only one thing left to do.

He walked briskly back to his town house, took three shots of whisky, and went to bed, praying for a dreamless night.

Seven

“Chloe!” Lizzie called from the hallway outside Chloe’s bedroom.

“Come in.”
 

Lizzie opened the door to find Chloe, dressed in black once again, dripping wax onto a folded piece of parchment. She waited until Chloe had stamped the seal to address her.

“I’ve just come out of the bath, and the water is still warm,” she said, eyeing the drab garment draping her cousin. “Would you like me to help you out of that?”

“Thank you, yes,” Chloe replied. “I could certainly use with a bath before our shopping trip today.”

Chloe turned her back to Lizzie so she could unfasten the clasps. Lizzie remained quiet as she helped her cousin undress and then began to gather the garments from the floor.

“Lizzie, what are you doing?”

Lizzie looked up with a smile. “Just helping. Go on, take your bath, and I’ll put these away for you.”

“But Sarah
—
”

“She’s busy helping Cook peel potatoes.” Lizzie grabbed at the tattered chemise and stopped when she realized her cousin still stood there, staring. “Go, Chloe! We haven’t much time.”

With a strange nod, Chloe finally quit the room. Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief and then swung open the closet door, which adjoined the next room.

“Sarah!” she hissed through the doorway. “Hurry!”

The little maid rushed in, and both women set to work, frantically pulling every piece of black, gray and charcoal from Chloe’s closet.

“Won’t she be angry, my lady?” Sarah asked tentatively, as she scrutinized a hideous gray frock.

Lizzie shot her an annoyed look. “Of course she will...at first. But she’ll soon realize it’s for her own good. Did you bring my lilac dress with you?”

“It’s already hanging, my lady. Shall I lay it out for the missus?”

“Yes, quickly.” Lizzie could barely see now over the pile of ugly dresses in her arms. “And then take these downstairs with you. You and the rest of the staff may take whatever fits. Whatever does not, you can have delivered to the poorhouse. Now, go!”

Sarah practically sprinted to where the dress hung and then into the bedroom where she laid it out with all the proper undergarments. Lizzie waited while she did so, terrified that Chloe could return at any moment. She didn’t so much care about Chloe’s wrath as much as having to relinquish the frocks back into her cousin’s care again. Whatever happened, those dresses had to be gone by the time Chloe returned from her bath.

***

Andrew woke with a pounding in his head to match the pounding in his groin. What the hell had happened last night? He had hoped for a quiet evening, a little dalliance, and it had turned out a disaster. His sleep was fitful at best, images of Mrs. Hawthorne spinning in his mind, mingling with his mounting fury at Elizabeth.

He still couldn’t believe she’d left Mrs. Hawthorne alone in the park or that she’d had the audacity to defend her actions to him. He knew Elizabeth had a mind of her own, and he didn’t mind too much, but she’d been in the wrong. And when one was in the wrong, they admitted it and apologized. They didn’t argue about it.

He should probably let it go and forget about it, but he couldn’t. It kept him up most of the night and now he was even angrier than he’d been the moment it happened. He had to speak with her and come to a satisfactory conclusion over the matter. He had to know that she understood her wrongdoing.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed and rang for his coffee. He dressed,
then
met his brother in the breakfast room, where he requested only plain toast from Mrs. Finch. The sulfuric smell of the eggs on his brother's plate threatened to send him running for the nearest chamber pot.

“You look like hell,” Michael remarked. “You must have had a rousing good time at Madam Stone's to look like that.”

“Hah,” Andrew replied, unable to muster any other syllables.

“That good, huh?” Michael opened that day's
news sheet
and blanched.

“What is it?” Andrew asked on a mumble. “Another silly debutante caught in a compromising position?”

“Actually, yes.” Michael sighed and slid the paper across the table so Andrew could read for himself.

A certain
engaged
young lady was seen lurking behind bushes in Hyde Park with a man who was decidedly not her fiancé. Though the encounter was reported as being “innocent enough,” this author cannot help but wonder if her betrothed would view it as such.
 

“Goddamn it!” Michael jumped at the force in Andrew's voice, but he couldn't help himself. So, it was true. The rumors about Lord
Edgmond
were true, damn him. Damn her! Not only had she left her cousin alone in a strange place, she'd left her so she could dally with some other man.

Andrew pushed back from the table, causing Mrs. Finch to squeal as he nearly missed running over her toes.

“Andrew, be careful how you handle this,” Michael warned. “If I were you, I'd walk off some of that anger before you go barging into her parents' home.”

His brother was right. As much as he wanted to tear both of them limb from limb, he couldn't go stomping around like a mad man. He nodded his head to his brother and stalked out of the room, mentally girding his loins for what was certain to be a trying confrontation with his future bride.

***

Chloe returned to her bedroom with the cheery scent of verbena in her nose. Lizzie had a wide array of bath salts from the
perfumer,
so bathing was always an adventure for Chloe. She felt clean and refreshed—just what she needed after the night she’d had. Every time she closed her eyes, Andrew’s face appeared, smiling and handsome, and she’d opened them again, desperate to erase the image.

But then he started appearing of his own accord, popping into her head without notice, and causing her to think the most scandalous thoughts.

Chloe was no innocent, and though she’d only been married for two weeks, she knew well the customs of the bedroom. Sam had been eager to bed her, having waited almost their entire lives to do so, and just as eager to start a family.

She grimaced as she remembered their wedding night.
Neither one had any experience, and
if she were being honest, it had been rather uncomfortable and awkward. But Sam had been sweet and gentle, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, she’d borne it like a good wife and-

She was distracted from her thoughts by the presence of a dress laid out at the end of her bed. She picked up her brush and crossed to the bed curiously as she began to pull the tangles from her hair.

“What in the world is this?” she wondered aloud. “Lizzie!” Chloe went to the door and flung it wide before calling again, “Lizzie!”

No response. She stared back at the dress. It was pretty.
Lilac with white lace trim.
Feminine and soft, like the dresses she used to wear before...

“Oh, Sam,” she whispered as she traced a finger along the lace bodice.
 

And then she shook her head and turned her back on the dress. It was all well and good for Lizzie to hint at her needing a change of wardrobe, but she just wasn’t ready. The dark colors had become her security and her one link to her late husband. She hated herself for entertaining the idea of other men, such as Lord Andrew, and for even thinking of wearing colors. She knew that the time for mourning had passed sometime ago, but she still wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Chloe flung open the door to her wardrobe and stopped short when she saw that it was empty. Anger boiled inside her like hot lava, causing her to tremble. Everything. Every last one of her mourning dresses had been removed, leaving her with nothing to wear except that blasted lilac thing. As soon as she got her hands on Lizzie, she would wring her neck.

“Lizzie!” she shouted again as she moved frantically to her dressing table. Gone. All her caps were gone as well. “Elizabeth Crawley, I will never forgive you for this!”

Silence. Where had she gone? She was probably in her room, pretending not to hear, so that Chloe would be forced into wearing the gown.

Well, Chloe Hawthorne would not be bested. If Lizzie wanted to steal her clothes, she would just have to find another chaperone to escort her around town.

***

“Chloe, open this door!” Lizzie banged furiously at the oak panel. “Lady Weston and the others will be here any moment.”

“I’m not going,” Chloe called from her bed.

She had decided, since she now had the entire day free from responsibility, that she would snuggle up with a book and relish the quiet. Well, as soon as Lizzie left, she would relish the quiet.

“What are you talking about? You must come. Think of the reflection this will have on me.”

That was it. “On
you?
”
Chloe shot back indignantly. “You’re the one who stole my clothes
—
”

“And left you a perfectly fine dress instead
—
”

“That I will
not
wear!”

“Just open this door, Chloe, please.”

Chloe stared dubiously at the door. She detected a sense of remorse in her cousin’s tone, which Chloe might have taken into consideration if she didn't think it was for completely selfish reasons.

“I will not open the door until I am sure you have recovered my clothes.”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“Lizzie, did you hear me?” Chloe waited. “Lizzie?”

Perhaps she had giving up and left her alone. Good. The last thing she wanted to do today was go shopping with a duchess anyhow.

She propped her book up again and began to read. Only she couldn’t see the words on the page, for the tears had begun to flow freely, obstructing her view. She allowed the book to drop and then turned herself over on the bed and shoved her face into her pillow.

She knew it had been a bad idea to come to London, but everyone said it would do her good to get away from Essex and the cramped little home she shared with her parents and five siblings. But getting away had only made things worse.

Now she was being forced to lie, forced to go to social functions she didn’t want to attend, and forced to wear clothing in which she didn’t feel comfortable.

“Ah!” Chloe started when someone’s hand touched her shoulder.

She turned to find Lizzie standing over her.

“How did you get in here?” she asked, swiping at her eyes.

Lizzie gave her a sheepish look. “Sarah didn’t lock the closet door when she left with your clothes.”

All of a sudden, Chloe wanted to laugh. The picture of her cousin and the maid ransacking her closet tickled something inside of her. She snorted. Lizzie’s eyes widened and blinked.

Chloe snorted again and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggle. “I’m sorry,” she choked, realizing that she was going to burst into tears again. “I don’t...I don’t know what’s come over me.”