Page 14 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“I am sorry, my lord, but I fear I must decline your generous offer nevertheless.” Where he would get the votes now he didn’t know. But if not this year, there was next.

Grafton rose, bringing Nash to his feet as well, somewhat dazed at his easy victory. “I am sorry to hear that, Wrotham. I believe you would have been quite a force in Parliament from what I have seen in this last year.”

“Would have been,’ my lord?” The sinking feeling of having a trap sprung about him nigh on suffocated him.

“Would have been, Lord Wrotham.” The earl turned toward the doorway. “As I said before, a sensible man gives me my way. When I run into a stubborn man, one who thinks to turn me from my course, I fear I have not the Christian way of charity when dealing with him.” He swung back toward Nash, his walking stick whipping around until it was aimed squarely at Nash’s stomach. “You asked earlier for my support on your bill, and I would have been happy to grant it as a familial alliance. But know this, my lord: as no such alliance exists, not only will I remove my support from this bill, but from any other bill you may propose within my lifetime. Any bill you support, I will actively work to defeat. Members will avoid even being seen with you because I will make it known that such an association will incur my wrath and the immediate withdrawal of my support for their bills.”

Nash stared at Grafton, icy anger flowing through his veins. How dare the earl blackmail him into marrying his licentious daughter? He opened his mouth to tell the old man it would be a cold day in Hades before he spoke vows with the wanton Lady Cavendish, when a niggling little voice whispered to him to close it instead. That voice had saved his bacon more than once. He’d better listen to it now.

“I do not take kindly to blackmail, my lord.”

“Then look at it as my way of assisting you in your career in Parliament.” Lord Grafton gave what Nash assumed passed for smile. “I give you my support, you give me yours. Quite simple actually. Once you come to know Charlotte, you may even develop a fondness for her. She has spirit, although she is one of the most stubborn women in England. As long as you keep her from becoming the talk of the ton and are betrothed to her by November first, when the bill comes up for a vote, you shall have my considerable weight behind you.” The earl inclined his head and leaned toward Nash, resting his weight on his cane once more. “Do we have a deal, Wrotham?”

During Grafton’s little speech, Nash had frantically counted each vote he had already gotten and tried to figure who else he could possibly persuade. Damn the rest of his career; if he could get this one bill passed he’d be satisfied. If he could convince Admiral Lord Hyland to come over, he might be able to swing a block of ex-military members. It would take the rest of the session to see it through, yet it might be possible. Let Grafton believe Nash was courting Lady Cavendish while instead he’d be doing courting of a different kind.

“I have no idea if Lady Cavendish will even receive me, my lord. But I will pay her a call at my earliest convenience.” That had enough truth in it to appease his honor.

His butler appeared from nowhere. “From Wrotham Hall, my lord.” Hoskins presented a sealed message precisely in the middle of a silver salver.

Nash plucked it from the tray and broke the seal. He perused the note and swore. What despicably bad timing.

“Not bad news?” Grafton raised an eyebrow.

“As I’m sure you know, my lord, estate agents never send anything else. I will need to postpone my call on Lady Cavendish.” Nash sighed, the chance of garnering a sufficient number of votes to pass his bill without Grafton evaporating like smoke in the wind. The inevitability of becoming Grafton’s son-in-law weighed like a millstone. “I’m for home this afternoon.”

The earl cocked his head and frowned. “That serious?”

“Quite. There’s been a gang of robbers terrorizing the neighboring county. Now they’ve moved into Kent. They wounded one of my tenants trying to defend his home. My presence is required.”

“Robbers in Kent? I’ve an estate and a hunting lodge there.” The earl’s face darkened.

“I know. Lyttlefield Park abuts my property near the village of Wrotham.” Nash had thought their proximity a boon earlier this summer.

“Then you won’t mind keeping an eye out for my interests while you’re there?” The older man peered at him, as if he were bestowing a great favor on Nash rather than asking one.

“Not a’tall, my lord. However,” Nash snatched at a breath of hope, “I will be hard-pressed to court Lady Cavendish if she is in London and I am in Kent. This matter with the robbers may not be resolved easily.”

Grafton waved a hand in dismissal. “I believe it will not be that difficult for you to find a way to court my daughter, Wrotham, if you put your mind to it. Keep her from public censure and put your engagement in The Times in short order and all else will fall into place. Good day.”

“Good day, my lord.”

Grafton strode out of the room. Nash stared after him, crumpling the note in his fist. The only place this could be deemed a good day was in hell.

* * *

“What is this Widow’s Club Jane spoke of in her note this morning?” Mrs. Elizabeth Easton wrinkled her brow as she sat in the gold-figured Chippendale chair, a focal point of Charlotte’s perfectly appointed drawing room, sipping tea as they waited for the rest of their friends to arrive.

“I’ve actually thought of our little set that way all along.” Charlotte poured herself a cup of tea and added two lumps of sugar. “We are all widows, we met because our husbands died at Waterloo, or because of it, and we are now all on the hunt for male companionship once more. We have so much in common, it put me in mind of one of the gentlemen’s clubs.” As the clock struck eleven, she glanced at the door, but it remained closed. Her cousin was never punctual.

“Except we talk about fashion and children, and our husbands . . .” Elizabeth fought to contain a sob and bent her head to study her teacup. Her shoulders sagged.

Charlotte clasped her hand and squeezed it. “I know, my dear.” Poor Elizabeth. She had been devastated by her husband’s death. Almost worse, she had had to return to her parents’ home. If Charlotte’s plan for the widows worked, maybe she could help her friend.

One more squeeze of her hand and Charlotte let go. “Yes, we do talk of much different subjects than our male counterparts.” She plopped in one more lump and stirred slowly. “Our conversations lately, however, have focused on our desire, or the necessity, of marrying again.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm, then sipped her tea. “Marriage is actually what we shall discuss this morning—a way I’ve come up with for us to find new prospects.”

Elizabeth twisted her plain gold wedding band. She glanced up, met Charlotte’s gaze, then folded her hands in her lap. “Do you plan to bring Mr. Garrett up to scratch, then?”

Charlotte sputtered back into her teacup. “Dear Lord, why do you ask that?”