Page 29 of What a Widow Wants

As they approached the winding driveway to the Downs, Matthew pulled Spartan down to a smart canter, then a quick trot, and finally to a walk.

Beatrice rode up beside him, a perturbed frown on her face. “What hellhounds did you think were chasing you, brother? I’ve never seen you push Spartan that hard outside of a hunt.”

“He’s in fine fettle after three days of no exercise. I gave him his head, is all.”

“Well, you could have had a care for my welfare. I was hard put to keep up with your breakneck pace.” Bea’s reproachful look might have touched his heart, had not her eyes been shining with the exhilaration of the ride.

“You do not seem unduly distressed, sweet sister. But if your riding skills are lacking, do not blame me. You are perfectly capable of riding when you will. If you’ve lately taken to mainly indoor pursuits, such as reading those dreadful romance novels, you can scarcely be surprised.” Matthew grinned, and narrowly managed to avoid a blow from his sister’s riding crop.

“Wretch. What else am I supposed to do when it rains?” Beatrice settled back in her saddle, walking her horse alongside him. “I can hardly play billiards by myself when you are gone. Mama won’t play and the younger girls are too silly to learn.”

“Give them a chance, Bea. They are scarcely ten and twelve.”

“I am certain I was never so giddy when I was that age.”

“You have never been giddy, I grant you that,” Matthew said as they came in sight of the Broadmans’ stately manor house. “Stubborn, yes, giddy, no. I shall be sure to tell your future husband that when he asks for your hand.”

Bea dismounted, then glared at him. “I’ll thank you to keep your observations to yourself where my ‘future husband’ is concerned or I’ll thwart you and elope to Gretna Green.”

“And then I’ll take a riding crop to you, my girl. Just see if I don’t.” Chuckling, Matthew swung down from Spartan, good humor restored by their always spirited banter. Despite his words, he’d sorely miss Bea when she did marry.

The butler showed them to the drawing room where the family had gathered for tea.

“Lady Beatrice, what a lovely surprise.” Lady Skelton beckoned to her, smiling warmly. “Good day to you, my lord. It is good to see you again.”

“Good morning, Lady Skelton.” He and Beatrice spoke as one to the lovely woman, their neighbor of long acquaintance. Sarah and Beatrice had grown up together, and though Jonathan Broadman, now Lord Skelton, was much younger than he, Matthew and the tall, thin, good-natured earl had always been on excellent terms.

“Skelly, well met.” Matthew turned to his friend, who stood next to the fireplace, a teacup in hand.

“Beatrice!” Sarah Broadman squealed and rushed to embrace her friend. “What a lucky stroke that you have come just this minute. May I take Bea to see my new gown, Mama?”

“Sarah, did you forget to speak to Lord Lathbury?” The viscountess gave her daughter a stern gaze.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Dipping a quick curtsy, Sarah smiled brightly at him. “Good morning. Thank you ever so much for bringing Bea with you. I really must show her my gown for the ball. Come with me, my dear.” She grabbed Beatrice by the hand and tugged her toward the door. “You will be astounded at what Mrs. Comfrey has managed to devise.”

After her daughter disappeared, Lady Skelton shook her head. “Skelton, I fear it will matter not at all how many balls we give for Sarah, she will not secure a husband if she does not try to attract one.” She looked pointedly at Matthew and sniffed. “Her second Season is likely to be as dismal as her first.”

“Take heart, Lady Skelton,” Matthew said, moving quickly toward Skelly, who had put his tea down on the mantelpiece and stood with hands on hips, a belligerent set to his lips. “Beatrice will be out as well next Season. When the gentlemen compare Sarah to my sister, they will undoubtedly flee Beatrice’s tart tongue and flock to your vivacious daughter instead.” As long as Lady Skelton didn’t look on him with a matchmaking eye. Sarah was practically the same age as Beatrice, and flighty. Not at all to his taste. “Is she looking forward to London again so soon? She spoke of a new gown for a ball.”

“Yes, and a pretty piece of folly it is too.” Lord Skelton glared at his mother and straightened the candlesticks on the mantel. “There are few local gentlemen my mother would deem grand enough a match for Sarah, save you.” Skelly raised his eyebrows hopefully. “You aren’t by any chance interested in her, are you, Lathbury? It would make my life a deal easier, I tell you.”

“Alas, I seem to have a toe caught in the parson’s mousetrap. I proposed to a lady when we met in Brighton, but she has yet to give me her definitive answer. Until I am certain of that outcome I could not, in good conscience, raise your sister’s hopes.” Hoping his description of his current state of affairs with Fanny didn’t stray too wide of the mark, he sat in the rather ornate, but extremely comfortable Sheraton armchair.

“Didn’t think so.” His friend sighed. “My luck’s out completely. Will you at least put in an appearance, Lathbury? Pay Sarah a bit of attention if you would. Dance once or maybe twice with her even. Perhaps if the other gentlemen see you dancing attendance on her, they’ll try to swoop in and steal her away from you. Worth a go, don’t you think?” Skelly’s dark eyes pled as though his life depended on it. “I cannot endure chaperoning the girl in London for another three or four months. Not and retain my sanity.”

“What has she done, Skelly?”

“What do you think she does, old chap? The same as your sister will come next April. Gad about to every ball, picnic, theatre performance, musical evening, and firework display at Vauxhall Gardens. Not to mention having to shepherd her on sightseeing trips to museums, libraries, exhibitions. And the shopping trips.” His face grew pale. “You would not believe it, Lathbury. Four and a half hours to bespeak a gown!”

“Sarah had not been to London since she was a child,” her mother put in crisply, “and certainly not since coming out. What did you suppose she would do for clothes in Town, Skelton? Be satisfied to make over some of my old gowns?”

“No, Mama.” Lord Skelton glanced away quickly from his parent, who had started to frown. “But it was the better part of an entire day.” He turned to Matthew for sympathy. “I missed the races at Newbury because of it.”

Matthew shook his head as if to commiserate, his mind furiously racing down another track entirely. What if the tables were turned? “I can see why you would take every opportunity to avail Sarah of the opportunity to find a husband. I wonder if I might be of some service after all.”

Eyes suddenly bright, Lady Skelton leaned toward him. “How kind of you, my lord. But what are you proposing, may I ask, if not marriage?”

“A house party, my lady.” Matthew smiled evenly at his neighbor. “The lady I spoke of earlier had just attended one at which the ladies were able to make the acquaintance of new gentlemen in a secure environment. Young girls would be chaperoned by a family member, but would still have better opportunities to converse with gentlemen. And,” he continued smoothly for the coup de grace, “I would be able to invite a variety of gentlemen, and ladies, of course, who might be suitable, yet from a different social set than that Sarah is accustomed to.”