Page 30 of For The Love Of A Widow

One day, she would realize this—and he would be there at her side, proving that he had changed. He was not the man she accused him of being. He would never deny his flaws and faults, but that was not the man he was now.

It had taken years of bitterness and hurt to realize that while it had pained him to let her go, it was only in doing so that she’d become the woman she was today. Hell, he was proud of her, and of himself for sacrificing his happiness for her.

While Lettie had changed, so had Daniel. He was wiser, and now knew what would truly make him happy, though not in his many vivid dreams had he imagined Lettie would come back to England—and him.

He pushed back his chair and stood.

The time had come to prepare, and if he’d learned anything about Lettie, she was not one to be kept waiting.

Daniel paused outside the parlor as another moment of doubt overtook him. He shouldn’t have come. It would have been wise for him to send his regrets to Lord and Lady Percival; however, Daniel was unwilling to let Lettie face a parlor full of people without an ally by her side.

Damn it. He should have been honest with her days ago. It was because of him they’d fought. Honestly, he could not rightfully, and in good conscience, blame everything that had transpired on Lord Gable.

Daniel was who he was. That he’d worked hard to do away with his roguish ways, banish his rakehell tendencies that had become almost second nature over the long years alone, should win him some reward. A prize of leniency at the very least.

Lettie hadn’t any notion how far he’d fallen into debauchery. Although, at present, he suspected she was learning.

And he couldn’t be frightened to face her head-on and explain his past with no excuses or rationalizations. She deserved honesty while Daniel deserved her scorn. Their brief time walking among the grove of plum trees only reinforced her innocence in everything and his culpability.

A bubble of female laughter floated from the room beyond the closed door, though Lettie’s light laugh was noticeably missing from the choir.

He took a deep breath, straightened his neckcloth, and patted his hair into place. “I’m ready.”

“Very good, your grace,” the butler pushed the door wide with a flourish, revealing a room cluttered with women he adamantly avoided, and men who’d aged out of their wild ways years before. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Duke of Linwood.”

Daniel instantly spotted Lettie, gowned in a dress of pure black, the only adornment the velvet trim along the hem and neckline, which reached to her chin. She appeared every inch the widow she was. By the way the females gathered around her squawked and giggled, he was the only one to notice.

She was stunning, captivating, and enthralling all at the same time. Her mourning shroud hid more than the pain of her past, but lent an air of mystery to her person.

The duchess had settled on the grand idea to host this party in hopes that Lettie would embrace her old life in town, reconnect with her dear friends, and eventually, do away with her mourning garb before the Season ended. It was a risky tactic on their part, and no doubt, Lettie would see clear through their scam. If not, Daniel was more than willing to play her companion for the evening and steer the conversation in a direction that would not cause her any pain.

Lettie may not want him there, but she damn well needed him there. Or maybe he only deluded himself and it was he who needed her.

“Good evening,” Daniel said, nodding to several men he’d met on occasion before moving to Lettie’s side. Her guests were occupied, completely missing she did not offer him any greeting. He’d count his blessings that she didn’t outright throw him from the room. “Lady Lettie. Thank you for inviting me this evening.”

She did not refute his insinuation that it had been her idea to invite him, but instead, set her sights on being an acceptable hostess. “May I introduce Lady Buttomcoup, Lady Alsoup, and Lady Haunton. We all attended our first Season together.”

“No gentleman with any sense could forget the year London was presented with the finest crop of debutantes ever to grace a ballroom.” Daniel bowed low as the women tittered behind their fans at his outlandish greeting.

“Hear, hear, Linwood!” the men, clustered by the sideboard, called in agreement as they raised their glasses in salute to their wives.

“What will you have, your grace?” Lord Alsoup motioned to the grand display of decanters on the sideboard and waggled his brows as if they were nothing more than a group of University gents nipping a few pulls from one of their father’s treasured liquor cabinet.

Daniel waved him off with a shake of his head. He needed to keep his wits about him if he were going to assist Lettie in making it through the evening. “It is a pleasure to see you all again,” he said to the gathering at large.

The women giggled once more, and Lettie winced as they returned to their conversation. Namely, painted cotton gowns imported from India—Lady Buttomcoup insisted they’d fallen out of fashion twenty years before, while Lady Haunton adamantly disagreed. Lettie was called on to make her worldly edict on the matter.

She rubbed her brow. The women thought she pondered the subject, while Daniel suspected Lettie had developed a headache and was certainly in need of a drink—far more than he.

Leaning close, he whispered, “May I offer you refreshments, my lady?”

Her back stiffened but she nodded in agreement, still avoiding eye contact with him.

She had yet to forgive him.

A bottle of sherry sat on the sideboard, and Daniel quickly poured her a healthy portion. If it didn’t help relieve her headache, at least it would drown out the incessant chatter.

“What have you been up to, Linwood?” the Earl of Haunton inquired. “We haven’t seen you much at White’s or Tattersall’s. Thought you’d retired to the country or some other outrageous thing.”