Page 73 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Chapter 26

When Charlotte reached her suite of rooms, she paused in an attempt to let her head clear. She’d had to walk very carefully from the staircase to the door because the floor kept tilting at an alarming angle. No wonder men drank to forget their sorrows. They had to concentrate too hard on doing everything else to think about them. She leaned against the door, pushed down the latch, and slid into her sitting room.

The blazing fireplace created an inviting cocoon of warmth. Charlotte staggered to the nearest chair and slumped into it. Apparently she had not drunk enough yet. She still remembered her house party had perhaps led to the ruin of a young woman. She glanced at the small table that held a decanter and two glasses. It had remained untouched in her suite because she had placed it there, hoping to offer it eventually to a male companion.

Charlotte sighed and leaned her head against the back of the chair. She’d had no thought her idea to host a weekend party would result in such an unfortunate turn of events. True, she had assumed most of her guests would eventually find their way into bed together. And of course widows should know all the dangers of such liaisons. But the possible consequences hadn’t crossed her mind. Until now. How stupid of her. First, an unfulfilled wife and now a bad hostess.

She stared at the amber liquid in the decanter that seemed to glow in the firelight. Perhaps a small amount more would be enough to push those thoughts out of her head. Trying to summon the energy to move, she lay back, allowing the question she had been avoiding to come to the forefront of her mind.

Who had fathered Maria’s baby?

The guest list from her first weekend party danced tantalizingly clearly in her otherwise foggy brain. Brack, Fernley, Sinclair, Kersey, and Nash. She closed her eyes and concentrated on each man and his actions as she remembered them. Any one of them could be the culprit.

Lord Brack had seemed devoted to Elizabeth. They had spent a good deal of time together over the course of the five days. In her judgement, he had appeared not at all interested in Maria. Hadn’t Georgie also informed her that her brother had gone from Kent to Brighton in August, not to London? Very well, then, one less candidate on the list.

Fernley was a top contender, even though he had seemed ill-suited to the company. Still, as an eligible parti, his enticements might have tempted Maria to succumb to his dubious charms. He possessed a title and enough wealth to be persuasive. If she had invited the little weasel, she could bring him up to scratch in no time. The image of Nash pitching the unfortunate Fernley into the rosebushes popped into her head and she laughed.

From the midst of her befuddled brain, Jane’s earlier words surfaced: “She says you invited him here this weekend.”

Maria had asked who would be attending before she had declined her invitation. Charlotte had written her and enclosed the guest list. So the girl knew Fernley would not be here. He could not be Maria’s seducer. A relief in one way—Charlotte would not have the poor girl saddled with Lord Fernley for life. A distressing circumstance in another way as now there remained only three gentlemen who might have fathered the child. Sinclair, Kersey, and Nash. Unwelcome possibilities all.

Charlotte rolled her head back and forth against the chair until the room began to spin. With an effort she sat up and focused on the decanter. She would need another libation if she decided to continue her line of reasoning. The outcome seemed bleak at best. She tottered up onto her feet, lurched to the table, and managed to pour a glass of brandy, only half full by the time she’d finished sloshing the liquid around and sat back down. Just as well. The spirits needed to slow her thoughts, not render her insensible. Thank goodness carpets could be cleaned.

The fire of the liquid exploded in her stomach, seeming to radiate outward at an alarming rate.

“Is it getting hot in here?” she said to the empty room. Rose had not come to assist her into her nightgown yet and her clothing had begun to suffocate her. She must ring for her maid.

Drink in hand, Charlotte made her way into her bedroom. The fire here did not burn so intensely, rendering the air a touch cooler. She rang for Rose, then flopped onto the blue brocade coverlet, holding the tumbler out from her in an effort to avoid spilling any more. She closed her eyes and her body sank almost out of existence.

“My lady!”

Rose’s indignant and loud voice jolted Charlotte back into herself. She sat up abruptly, spilling brandy onto her gown.

“Drat.” Charlotte handed the drink to Rose and tried to wipe at the stain with her hand.

“My lady, what are you doing?” Rose set the glass on the nightstand, then peered at her mistress. Mouth set in stern lines and a frown deepening her eyebrows, the woman tsk-tsked until she had stripped Charlotte completely.

Charlotte lay back once more, luxuriating in the soft coverlet cool against her naked skin. Nash should see her like this. She doubted he’d be able to resist her then, wedding vows or not.

Rose pulled her into a sitting position, drew a plain white nightgown over her head, and sighed. “I’m sure I don’t know why you’ve gotten yourself in this state, my lady. You’ve never been one to hold with strong drink.” Rose maneuvered Charlotte under the covers.

“Well, I’m holding it now.” Charlotte reached for the glass on the table and slid dangerously close to falling out of bed.

“Not well, you’re not. What has gotten into you?” Rose removed the tumbler to the mantel.

“It’s not what’s gotten into me, Rose, it’s what’s gotten into . . .” From somewhere deep inside, caution about gossip with servants surfaced. “Never mind. My head aches.” She put her hand to her head where a nagging little pain had begun.

“You’ll feel worse tomorrow, if I may say so, my lady.”

Charlotte shook her head and winced. “I believe you may be right, Rose. So let me be until morning. You may come in and pick up the pieces then. But for the love of God, do not disturb me tonight.”

Rose sniffed, picked up Charlotte’s clothing, and carried it to her dressing room. After an inordinate amount of time, she reemerged. “Everything is put to rights, my lady. I’ll see to you in the morning. Sleep if you can.”

The maid returned to the bed and slid a chamber pot under it within easy reach. “In case you come on sick during the night.” With a final puzzled shake of her head, she left Charlotte alone with the quiet of the cozy room.

Blessed silence reigned. So quiet in fact, Charlotte caught herself nodding off.

That would never do. It was much too early to go to sleep. She struggled to sit up in the bed. She needed something to occupy her. Another drink would taste fine about now. But the glass sat all the way over on the mantel. She could make it there, of course, or to the table with the decanter, although both seemed very far away. Drat Rose!