Page 25 of What a Widow Wants

Yes, she must consider Matthew, or any man, carefully. More than one life was at stake.

CHAPTER 10

“Jane.” Fanny embraced her sister-in-law on the steps of Lyttlefield Park’s spacious portico. “How good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

“Hello, Fanny. I’ve missed you as well.” Lady John Tarkington, widow of Stephen’s second-eldest brother, returned the hug. “You have managed to keep busy these last months, I understand. Your stay in Brighton was invigorating, I hear.”

With a sigh and a laugh, Fanny swept past Jane and into the foyer. “Very. Has Lavinia been filling your head with my scandalous behavior?”

“I daresay she could have done, considering what transpired there. Have she and Theale had the whole story from you, then? Elizabeth is my informant, though she said nothing of scandal.” The petite blonde sidled up to Fanny as the butler took her spencer. “We must catch up this instant.” She gestured to the staircase rising to the right of the foyer. “Will you take a moment to freshen up or shall we go straight to the drawing room? Charlotte is to gather her guests there.”

“Oh, please,” Fanny said, heading straight for the stairs, “if a meeting with Lord Lathbury is imminent, I must repair these travel-weary looks.”

“Charlotte did not have time to inform you.” Jane mounted the stairs behind her. “Lord Lathbury sent his regrets at the very last moment.”

Fanny stopped, her heart giving a huge thump as though it had rolled over in her chest. “Regrets?” She whirled around. “He’s not coming this weekend?”

Shrugging, Jane motioned for her to continue upward. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, but no. Some urgent matter has called him to Hunter’s Cross, his primary estate in Buckinghamshire.”

Stunned, Fanny grasped the handrail and began to climb once more. All the joy she’d anticipated in seeing Matthew again this weekend evaporated the moment Jane spoke the words, leaving an emptiness the size of the ocean inside her. “Did he say why?”

“No. The letter arrived yesterday, saying he was terribly sorry, but he was heading north that very day.”

A bitterness flooded her mouth. She hadn’t understood just how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him again. To being intimate with him again.

“Are you all right, Fanny?”

Jane’s question brought her back to herself. They had reached the first floor and she stood unmoving, completely unsure what to do now. “I am fine. I simply don’t know which way to go.”

Her sister-in-law motioned her toward the corridor on the right, and she followed her, barely aware of her surroundings. What was she to do this weekend, then? She knew none of the other gentlemen, and wasn’t interested in getting to know them. She wanted Matthew, and now couldn’t have him.

They stopped halfway down the corridor and Jane opened the door on a cheerful room of pale green, the color of a ripe pear, furnished with charming white furniture in the French country style.

“Charlotte remembered how you liked the color green. Shall I send the maid to you or can you manage?” The ever efficient Jane turned to go.

“I can manage. I’ll be down shortly.” Still rather dazed, Fanny pulled herself together enough to send Jane a reassuring look before she closed the door.

Finally alone, she sank down onto a chaise whose green-flowered cushion would have normally brought a smile of delight to her lips.

She had nothing to smile about now.

What business in Buckinghamshire could have made Matthew renege on his promise to attend the house party? She’d lack a partner the entire weekend, as everyone else would be paired off. Unless she could entice a gentleman away from one of her fellow widows. Not a noble thing to do, to be sure, but if she became desperate enough, she might try. The idea filled her with despair. She didn’t want another gentleman. She wanted Matthew.

How infuriating that she had become dependent on the favor of one man so quickly. She’d believed she’d spend her widowhood happily flitting from one companion to another, sampling them like a bee in a vast field of flowers. As Stephen had done with the women of her acquaintance.

Fury, fueled by disappointment, brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them off and breathed hard through her mouth to stem the tide rising behind her eyes. No tears. She’d have to make an appearance downstairs in a little while and she’d not have everyone wondering at her red eyes and splotched face.

Rising, she sought the wash water and basin to cool her face, then stripped down to her chemise. Her cosmetic case lay on the bed and she took some time to repair the ravages of her distress. When the image in the mirror had a new sparkle in her eyes—and skillfully placed artificial roses in her cheeks—she rose and dressed in a simple afternoon dress of green sprigged muslin. That should do for now.

She grabbed a shawl, bit her lips to bring color to them, and sallied forth, determined to forget about Matthew and enjoy herself this weekend, if it killed her.

* * *

With a smile carefully hiding her pain, Fanny went through the steps of “Grimstock” with Lord Fernley, determined never to repeat the experience even if she had to leave the party completely. She’d danced with unskilled partners many times; never had she stood up with one so utterly inept on his feet. Her entire left foot ached where the man had stepped on it with his full weight—apparently more considerable than he looked—and her right shin smarted from a kick she’d received as he’d attempted a flourish of his foot when they cast down the first time.

Finally Charlotte played the last note of the wretched song and Fanny curtsied to her partner, feeling as though she’d come through a battle, wounded but alive. Before her friend could begin the next song, Fanny seized Fernley’s arm and dragged him over to a chair pushed up against a wall. “I really must rest a moment, my lord. I am quite fatigued by that lively dance. I’m not used to dancing much after being in mourning for so long.”

“Ah, I do understand, Lady Stephen.” He bobbed his red head, a kindly smile on his eager face. His deep blue eyes were his best feature, to be sure, for his wide nose was absurdly long and his ears stuck straight out from the sides of his head like handles on a pitcher. “May I fetch you some wine to help you recover?”