Page 32 of What a Widow Wants

“The very one.” Lady Beatrice sniffed. “I must confess I have never liked her. Her laugh is false.”

Lady Beatrice was no fool. Fanny would have to beware of Miss Gadhill and hope to stay on Matthew’s sister’s good side. “Should we return to the house now? I do wish to have ample time to dress for dinner.”

“By all means, my lady.”

As they returned to the house, Fanny’s every step was plagued with doubt about Matthew’s intentions toward her, and even worse, hers toward him.

* * *

A quick tap on the door of Fanny’s room sent her into a flurry of activity. “Come in, Jane. I am almost ready.”

“Why can you never manage to be ready on time, Fanny?” Jane strode into the room, straight to the fireplace. “Lord, these rooms are cold. I shall have to request another cover tonight.” She cut her gaze toward her sister-in-law. “Or find some other means to warm myself.”

“Jane! You waste no time a’tall, do you?” Fanny fastened her gold and amethyst earrings, then slipped her matching necklace around her neck. “Come help me with the clasp and we can go down.”

“The maid could have assisted you.” Her sister-in-law fussed even as she reached for the clasp.

“Not when she’s already assisting ten other ladies as well. Does no one have their own lady’s maid anymore?” Fanny shook her hands, hoping the fluttering in the pit of her stomach would magically disappear when she stepped into the corridor.

“Apparently not. Stand still or we will miss dinner all together.” Jane fussed with the clasp, pulling a stray strand of Fanny’s hair.

“Ouch!”

“If you’d stopped fidgeting that wouldn’t have happened. There.” Jane patted the back of her neck. “Ready to be ravished.”

“What?” Fanny jumped back, perhaps because that had been her own thought.

“Isn’t that why you’re here? I’m certain it is not for the grouse shooting tomorrow.”

“Jane . . .” Touching the necklace’s teardrop-shaped pendant, Fanny gathered her courage. If anyone could give her good advice about Matthew, it was her friend. “What should I do? I believe he still wants to marry me, although to see him flirting with all those young ladies this afternoon, I have to say I’d not be as sure as I once was, except . . .”

“Except?” Jane faced her, giving her full attention, albeit with a cynically arched brow.

“He wants to know if I love him.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Sighing heavily, Fanny grabbed a silk shawl and draped it over her shoulders, careful not to look at her friend. “He didn’t ask me. His sister did.”

“Lady Beatrice?” Jane’s brows swooped up alarmingly. “How terribly odd. Why would she be interested in that question? She did not strike me as the kind of young lady who meddled in love affairs not her own.”

“Her brother asked her to ask me.” Unwilling to meet Jane’s gaze any longer, Fanny hung her head.

“And your answer?”

“I told her I would inform Matthew of my answer myself.”

“Well, I am pleased to see your wits are not completely addled,” Jane said, laughter bubbling up out of her. “Fanny, you really need to just marry the man and be done with it.”

“But how can I be certain I won’t end up in another marriage I’ll live to regret making?” The misery of all her years as the poor, neglected wife of Stephen Tarkington returned with a force that overwhelmed her and she clutched the back of the vanity chair. Pain at the memory of the sympathetic eyes of the ton as they sought her out at parties and whispered whenever she went by washed over her. No matter how she tried, she could not banish the fear of walking by a crowd of people to hear the low, insistent whispers of “Poor Lady Lathbury. I hear he’s been seen with that opera singer . . . with Lady Margaret Seacole . . . with—”

“You can never be completely sure of any man, short of the grave, my dear,” Jane broke in on her spiraling thoughts of impending tragedy. “However, for as much as I have observed, Lord Lathbury is as different from Stephen as two men could be with regard to their faithfulness. Lathbury has never enjoyed the reputation your late husband did, before or after his marriage.” She embraced Fanny, hugging her tightly. “I, who know full well Stephen’s perfidy toward you, say that if you believe you love Lord Lathbury, you must summon the courage to be brave and embrace it and him.” She retreated a step and peered deep into Fanny’s eyes. “Do not allow Stephen to rob you of happiness twice.”

CHAPTER 13

Under brilliant sunshine the next day, the shooting brake that conveyed Fanny, Jane, and the other women of the house party bumped cheerfully along the rough road before striking off across the fallow fields toward the shooting range, from which direction faint gunfire could be heard. The day had dawned clear and the ladies had been informed at breakfast about the picnic lunch arranged for them with the gentlemen in the afternoon. An outing Fanny approached with some trepidation.

Last evening had proved frustrating in the extreme. While Matthew had spoken to her several times, he’d not singled her out in any special way to indicate he wished an answer to the question his sister had posed. Instead, he’d talked and laughed and flirted with every woman in the room. If she wished to be generous, this behavior could indicate he favored none of these women or girls, her included. However, generosity was furthest from her mind this morning, and she nursed a growing resentment toward her host. Had he brought her here to show her she’d missed her chance, his sister’s question notwithstanding? Either that or he was punishing her for telling him about her regrettable dalliance with Mr. Garrett by showing her two could play at that game. She’d not have thought that of Matthew, still what other explanation could there be for his behavior?