The Wary Widow (9 page)

She turned her focus back to the little hellion standing in the doorway. A pretty little menace was what she was. Her golden hair and angelic face made one think of cherubs and baby bunnies, but there was a twinkle of mischief in those dark blue eyes if one looked closely enough.

“Julia, what are you doing here? You were supposed to go to the museum with Molly,” her mother said, coming to an erect position on the sofa.

Julia bounced into the room, a doll on her arm that Chloe wagered would have begged for mercy if only she could speak. The eight-year-old girl wasn't all too kind to her things, for she knew if she broke them or lost them, her father would buy
her another
. The idea was foreign to Chloe. She'd had to take great care with her belongings, knowing money was scarce, and knowing that her younger siblings would have to garner enjoyment from them as well once she'd outgrown them.

“I hate Molly and I hate the museum,” Julia announced as she fluffed her skirts and sat down in the wing-backed chair opposite her mother.

“All right, then,” Lady Devon said with a resigned sigh. “Just don't say such things to Molly, you might hurt her feelings. Now do be quiet and have a biscuit. Mummy has a headache.”

Chloe watched with fascination as the scene unfolded before her. Even Lizzie seemed rather taken aback by her mother's passive attitude towards Julia. After a few moments of shocked silence, Lizzie grabbed her by the hand.

“Come on,
Clo
, let's find you something to wear for this evening.” Julia started to speak, no doubt wanting to join them, but Lizzie held up a hand and said firmly, “No, Jules, you stay here with Mother.”

Chloe followed Lizzie from the room. Andrew had been wrong about her. Lizzie was good and kind and well bred, nothing like her little sister who would, no doubt, grow up to be a complete shrew. Somehow, this disheartened Chloe and she knew that was terrible of her. She should never have rejoiced that Andrew found fault with his future bride. And she certainly shouldn't feel so melancholy that she'd disproved him.

She sighed, knowing there was nothing for it, and followed Lizzie to her room to pick out a gown for the Ellis Ball, purposely avoiding the subject of Andrew's visit that afternoon.

***

Andrew strolled through the park, feeling as if his best thoroughbred had just taken first place at Ascot. He couldn’t stop smiling. Every time he pictured Chloe’s face, his mouth tugged upward and he could do naught to stop it. She was like a golden ray of sunshine.

However, a dark, luminous cloud named Elizabeth Crawley blotted out the sun and a scowl came to his brow. He pounded his walking stick a little harder with every step now. What on earth, if anything, should he do? Breaking off the engagement was not an option. He could have an affair with Mrs. Hawthorne. She was a widow, after all. But then what if she rejected him on the grounds that he was engaged to her
charge
?

“Stupid!” he shouted at himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

He spun around to find Lord Stillwell staring after him, a perplexed look on his wrinkled face. Andrew’s face grew hot. How embarrassing to blush like some kind of schoolgirl in front of this man.

“Forgive me, Lord Stillwell, I certainly was not speaking to you,” he said, sounding forlorn.

The man gave him a knowing smile. “It doesn’t get any easier from here, my boy. Women will always trouble our minds, whether we’re six-and-twenty or...
old
, like I am.”

The old man turned and continued to waddle slowly down the lane. Andrew watched him with a perplexed smile. How the devil had he known what was wrong?

He shrugged and continued on his own path, and returned his focus to the matter at hand. The truth of the matter was that he felt awful. How could he lust after his fiancé’s chaperone, for God’s sake? And how could he even think of abandoning Elizabeth?

He came to the conclusion, when he reached the opposite end of the
park, that
he would just have to see his marriage through. He had proposed to Lady Elizabeth, she had accepted, and that was the end of it.

***

Chloe sat dutifully in her chair at the edge of the ballroom, watching her cousin dance a Scottish reel. In truth, she wished she were the one dancing. Up until Lord Andrew asked her earlier in the week, it had been ages since she’d engaged in a dance. But it had been exhilarating and she thought she might never get enough of it.

Then she wondered if perhaps it hadn’t been the dance at all, but rather her partner. A silly grin broke out on her lips and a tiny giggle escaped. Several of the other chaperones looked oddly at her.

Chloe cleared her throat and silently chided herself for acting so foolish over a man that was already engaged to her cousin.

Thou
shalt
not covet thy cousin’s
fiancé,
thou
shalt
not covet thy cousin’s fiancé...

“Mrs. Hawthorne?”

Chloe opened her eyes to find the Marchioness of
Eastleigh
standing over her. Goodness, she was beautiful. Tonight she wore a midnight blue gown, and the accompanying sapphires twinkled around her neck. And her hair! Oh, to have that luxurious, auburn hair.

“We missed you on our outing this morning, Mrs. Hawthorne. I do hope you’re feeling better.”

“Much!” Chloe exclaimed, coming to her feet. “I have a tendency towards headaches, and I fear I was quite debilitated by one this morning.”

The marchioness blinked several times and then said, “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better, then. Perhaps we can reschedule for next week?”

“I would be delighted to do so.”

Lady
Eastleigh
smiled wide before walking away. Chloe rubbed her palms on her dress. There was something intimidating about mingling with the Quality and her palms had become quite sweaty in the course of their short conversation.

Lizzie appeared a moment later and took a place on the bench beside her.

“I saw Lady
Eastleigh
came to speak with you,” she said, still a little out of breath from her reel.

“We are going to go shopping next week, it would seem,” Chloe told her cousin. “First she asked how I was feeling, though. I told her my headache was much better.”

Lizzie turned to look at her so quickly Chloe was afraid her head might snap off. “Headache?”

“Yes. I told her I had a tendency toward
—
”

“Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!”

Good heavens, Lizzie really was quite melodramatic. “What’s wrong, Lizzie?”

Lizzie looked up, a pained expression on her otherwise lovely face. “I told them you had a sore throat.”

Chloe's cheeks turned icy cold as the blood drained from her face. “Why in the world didn't you warn me?”

“Oh, I don't know.”

They both slumped in their chairs, looking forlorn, until an older matron—who smelled rather like moldy bread—cleared her throat beside them. Immediately, the two girls straightened their spines and offered sheepish smiles to the woman who had, without saying a word, chastised their posture.

Chloe cast a sidelong glance at her cousin whose lips twitched with amusement, and she smiled before looping her arm through Lizzie's.

“What is on our agenda tomorrow, dear cousin?” Chloe asked.

Lizzie cast her a bright smile and squeezed her arm. “Tomorrow shall be the highlight of our week, for Miss
Smythe
turns eighteen and her mother is quite well known for the parties she throws. I dare say we're in for quite a treat.”

“Lady Elizabeth, I do believe this is my dance, is it not?”

Chloe looked up to see the infamous Lord
Edgmond
standing before them. Lizzie gave a little trill and nodded before accepting his hand. They disappeared onto the dance floor and Chloe sighed.

Another party.
A treat, indeed.
Chloe had the feeling that by the end of the summer she wouldn't want to hear the word party, or fete, or ball, or soiree ever again. However, it was only her first week in the city, and so she would put on her most charming smile, and another one of Lizzie's dresses, and
hope
for a magnificent party on the morrow.

Nine

Andrew couldn't believe he was here. At the bloody Ellis ball. And frankly, he wasn't sure why he'd come at all. He'd already shown his face and danced with his betrothed the other night at his brother's ball. He certainly didn't need to do so tonight. However, he just couldn't stay away.

He had tried, but after three hours at the tables, trying to rid his head of that laugh, that face, that wild hair, he finally decided it was best to face her. Perhaps the more he saw her—the more he got to know her—he would discover that what he was feeling was only lust. Or perhaps a fleeting crush, because she was so very different from the girls he was used to. Or perhaps once he got to know her better, he wouldn’t like her at all.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Damn
. “Good evening, Katherine.”

“My little reprobate brother showing himself twice in one week at a respectable gathering calls for a toast, I think.”

“Very funny, Katherine.” Andrew turned to face his sister and realized she was not alone. He took a deep breath, preparing to answer the barrage of questions he was sure the Lionesses would throw at him. “Phoebe, Becky.”

They stared back at him with curious smiles.
What the devil are they about?

“Is your brother coming?” Phoebe asked.

He knew she referred to Michael but pretended he didn't. “You should know better than I. He is your husband, after all.”

“Don't be difficult, Andrew.”

Right. “I don't think so. Michael is still at the gaming hell from whence I came.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes, Katherine turned her face into a disappointed frown and Becky gave a dignified “Oh, bother.”

Andrew was afraid to ask, but he did anyhow. “Does this put a damper on matchmaking plans, then?”

None of them so much as flinched at his accusation. Clearly, they'd come to terms with being meddling, interfering women.

“Well, it's just that Mrs. Hawthorne is looking so lovely this evening, and she's sitting there, all alone.”

At the mention of her name, Andrew's stomach gave a flip-flop.
Dear God, I thought only women could have flip-floppy stomachs!
He turned to look in the direction of the Lionesses and his eyes landed on a vision in sky-blue silk, looking very uncomfortable in a row of ancient chaperones.
The poor girl.

“Then it falls to me, doesn't it?”

“What?” This question came as a trio and three heads snapped to look at him with wide eyes.

Andrew smiled. “I am quite an accomplished dancer, you know.”

“But you've not yet danced with your fiancée.”

Andrew refrained from snorting. His fiancée was currently making her way to the dance floor with none other than Lord
Edgmond
. “Yes, well, my fiancée has probably danced with a hundred men already. I hardly think she'll mind my dancing a...
pity
dance with her cousin.”

He hated the sound of the word as it left his mouth. It was hardly a pity dance. It was a dance he wanted very much to engage in, but he couldn't very well tell the Lionesses that.

Before they could say more, he stalked away from them, right to Mrs. Hawthorne.
Chloe
. Her eyes widened as he approached, but she said nothing. Her tongue appeared to be blessedly tied.

“May I?” he asked with as wry a smile as he could manage in his current state.

She nodded and took his hand. They approached the dance floor and took their places across from one another to join in the minuet. Ironically enough, they found themselves next to Elizabeth and her partner, Lord
Edgmond
.

“Lord Andrew!” Elizabeth breathed, just as startled to see him as everyone else was.
Or maybe a bit more.

“Good evening, Lady Elizabeth.”

“I didn't expect...that is, I thought you would be...”

“I was bored,” he said by way of explanation to save her from stammering over her words any more.

He took Chloe's hand and step-touched twice, brushing against her swaying skirts each time they moved into one another. Their eyes locked and Andrew sucked in a breath. Thank God he'd thought to button his jacket.

And then they were moving away from one another, prancing in a slow circle until they formed a four-person pinwheel with Elizabeth and
Edgmond
.
How bloody perfect!

No one said a word, but they didn't have to. The tension could be sliced through with a butter knife.
Edgmond
was eyeing him. Elizabeth and Chloe were passing silent messages back and forth. Thank God he could perform the pattern of a minuet in his sleep, otherwise he would be lost for trying to figure out what the devil everyone was thinking.

There was one frightening fact, though: Being in the presence of Mrs. Chloe Hawthorne had not, in any way, cooled his ardor for her. Nor had his anger abated in regards to his betrothed. They still had a great deal to talk about.

As soon as the dance ended, he took his fiancée by the arm and led her to the doors at the back of the house that opened onto the terrace.
 

“What are you doing?” she asked, giving the tiniest bit of resistance.

“We need to speak, Elizabeth.”

“But this dance belongs to Mr. White
—
”

“Mr. White can wait.”

He led her to the far end of the balcony, past several other couples stealing kisses in the shadows. Andrew was quite aware of Chloe's presence far behind, keeping a not-too-close watch on her cousin. He wondered if it was because she couldn't bear to see if he might kiss Elizabeth or simply because she believed in allowing liberties to her charge.

Bloody hell, what does it matter?

“What is this all about, Andrew?”

Andrew took a deep breath, and said, “You are going to force me to do something I do not wish to do. Your association with Lord
Edgmond
is no secret, my dear, and to save us from scandal, my family is suggesting I move up the wedding.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened at the suggestion. Perfect. Perhaps this would bring her to her senses.

“I haven't done anything
—
”

“There's no point in lying. You were with him the other day in Hyde Park. I was not born yesterday, Elizabeth. You not only left your cousin alone at dusk, but you dallied, and were seen, with another man.”

“How do you
—
”

“You think I don't read the news sheets?”

Elizabeth grew silent. Clearly, she hadn't realized he knew. “All right,” she said at last. “I will cease my association with
Edgmond
, but
—
”

“Ha!” She wished to add
a
but
?
“No, no, there are no buts, my dear. You will cease your association, period.”

And then he turned on his heel and stalked from the balcony, doing his best to not breathe in as he passed Chloe on the way back inside. He'd had all he could take of her perfect, lemony scent that day.

***

Lizzie watched as Andrew marched away from her back into the ballroom. She didn't move. Her poor heart was breaking, and he didn't even care.

Why did he think she dallied? Why did he think she allowed attentions from
Edgmond
and the other gentlemen? Did he simply think she was a flirt?
Or a woman of loose morals?
If so, why did he want to marry her in the first place?

She sighed. There was hardly ever a
want
when it came to marriage. It was a matter of convenience. They were both rich and
well-connected
, not that Lizzie cared about those things. She'd been raised to care about them, but all she really wanted was to be loved.

Lizzie wanted Andrew to care for her. She had hoped her behavior might make him jealous, that it might spark protectiveness or even possessiveness inside of him. Lizzie realized those were things most women abhorred, but she had to believe they would be better than indifference.

One thing she did not want, however, was to move up the wedding. She needed more time to bring Andrew around, to make him, if not fall in love with her, at least
like
her. Somehow she would find a way.

***

Andrew stood with his brother in the front hall of the Crawley’s town house, waiting for Lady Elizabeth and Chloe to join them.

Chloe.
He would have to remember to call her Mrs. Hawthorne. It would be difficult. He’d been dreaming about her, and when he dreamed about her, he always called her by her Christian name. The compromising positions he’d imagined her in weren’t exactly proper anyhow.

Michael paced the floor and checked his pocket watch for the tenth time in five minutes.

“Somewhere important you need to be?” Andrew queried.

“No,” Michael replied. “But I don’t want to be at this silly garden party all day.”

“Yes, well I don’t fancy the notion either, but unlike you, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Michael gave him a look. “As if I had a choice? I never hear the end of it when I make you go to these things alone. I do wish you and Lady Elizabeth would hurry up and get married so I could avoid these functions altogether.”

Andrew grinned at his twin. “You know you’d miss me, dear brother. That’s why we’re waiting until the Season is over, so you and I can spend some quality time together at garden parties.”

Michael simply rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the two women who were now walking down the stairs. They bowed and when Andrew came up, he met with Chloe’s smiling face. She wore a new dress, though Andrew suspected it was one of Elizabeth’s. It was downy white with a shiny yellow ribbon just under her bust, and her ginger hair framed her face under a white bonnet. She was like a pretty package that he desperately wanted to unwrap.

“Darling, are you paying attention?”

Andrew snapped back to the present, and more importantly, his fiancée. He hadn’t even noticed her. He really needed to get a hold of himself. It wouldn’t do to go gawking after her cousin, especially when she stood right beside him.

“Sorry, just...woolgathering,” he explained rather inadequately. “Are we ready?”

Elizabeth raised that one brow again, obviously not convinced of his explanation. He really wished she’d stop doing that. That was a trait men of the aristocracy had spent centuries perfecting, and it wasn’t right to see a woman do it.

His fiancée grabbed his arm and together they led the way out of the house to the carriage. Andrew groaned just thinking about how insipid the afternoon was going to be. He loathed garden parties, especially when they were birthday parties for silly young girls. But at least he had something nice to look at as a consolation.