Page 47 of What a Widow Wants

“Fanny, why the devil have you been hiding all week?” He frowned at her, his lips pursed in displeasure. “I called twice and was told you were indisposed.”

“You know I was overwrought from the visit with your mother. Have she and Beatrice returned to Hunter’s Cross?” Changing the subject would work for a short period only. She’d have to answer his questions sooner or later. She greatly preferred later.

“Yes. They left two days ago, and while I would not wish them away, I must say they have been acting peculiarly ever since our visit last week.” Knitting his eyebrows, he gestured for her to sit on the sofa, then joined her. “Beatrice has done nothing but laugh and giggle every time I come into a room. Extremely strange behavior, even for her. And Mother has talked of nothing but the wedding and your moving to Hunter’s Cross, although she’s gotten the oddest notion in her head that you will be sending Ella off to school in Germany or Switzerland.”

“We had spoken of that while you were at tea with Ella. I am not, however, highly in favor of such a scheme.” At least she could be honest about that.

“Well, I am happy to hear it.” His frown relaxed, and he slid next to her. “I would like to keep her with us, have my younger sisters’ governess take over her care as soon as we marry, rather than send her to a boarding school here in England.” He shook his head. “My mother has some odd ideas. I am surprised she didn’t try to send Beatrice off to a school in Germany.”

“We needn’t talk of such things this weekend, do we?” With her life spinning wildly out of her control, Fanny needed some other type of distraction. “I’d hoped we could take this time to enjoy ourselves.”

He slid closer, his mouth so close to her ear his breath heated her neck, causing all the hairs on her nape to rise. “I’d hoped we’d make plans for our wedding now that the question of Ella is settled.”

“Oh, there is Georgina.” Springing up off the sofa as if launched by a catapult, Fanny waved to Georgie as though she were a long-lost relation. “I have not seen her in an age. I must go speak to her.” She sped across the room, praying Matthew would not follow. Grasping her friend’s elbow, she continued toward the doorway.

“Fanny, how nice to see . . . where are we going?” Georgie’s comical look of surprise would have made Fanny laugh, had not the circumstances been so dire. She could not allow Matthew to discuss plans for a wedding that was not going to take place.

“Far enough that Lord Lathbury will not pursue me.” She cast a glance back toward him, but Matthew had reseated himself, his eyes narrowed and the ends of his mouth drifting downward.

“A lovers’ quarrel? Shall I go cheer him up?” Georgie asked, helpfully.

“You’ll do no such thing.” With a firm hand, Fanny caught the bow at the back of her friend’s blue sprigged gown as she teasingly turned to go.

“What’s the matter, my dear?” Turning back, and drawing Fanny a little farther away, Georgie leaned close to her. “Has he done something to upset you?”

“No.” The plaintive sound of her voice made Fanny even more distraught. She wasn’t some weak-willed miss who couldn’t handle a man. Especially one she loved. “There are things that must be said between us that I would rather be left unsaid. Once they are spoken, I do not think anything will ever be the same again.”

“Can there be no remedy for the situation, Fanny? You’re always so clever with men there must be something you can do. I quite envy your abilities that way.”

“Do not envy me, Georgie.” Fanny shook her head, resisting the urge to look at Matthew. “I have thought myself clever in the past, but I now find revenge is a two-edged sword, just as apt to bite you as the one you wield it at.”

Georgie frowned, her ginger brows furrowed over her petite nose. “I cannot know what you speak of, of course, but I believe that true love will always triumph, no matter what’s at stake. Choose love, Fanny. It’s the only thing that truly matters.” A toss of her head and her eyes lit up. “Jemmy is here! Please excuse me, Fanny.”

Two very handsome young men had just entered the drawing room. Lord Brack, Georgie’s brother, she’d met at the party in August. The other devastatingly attractive gentleman was a stranger. Another time she’d have followed her friend and begged an introduction. Now she wanted nothing more than to return to sit with Matthew, smooth the brooding lines from his brow, and plan a future together with him. Was there a way through this tangle she’d not considered? Could they marry and be happy without a scandal or the ruin of her child’s life?

Every instinct told her that a life without Matthew would be widowhood all over again, with no hope of putting off her mourning in six months or a year. Grief she hadn’t felt at Stephen’s passing would now consume her for the rest of her days if Matthew was not at her side. By God, she would find a way to make the impossible possible.

Straightening her spine, head held high, Fanny strode back to the sofa where Matthew sat, his face still morose, his countenance sad.

He gazed up at her, a wariness not usually in his eyes now apparent.

Smiling, she seated herself on the sofa so close to him their hips touched. “Now that that is done, I think we can proceed. Did you wish a country wedding at Hunter’s Cross, or a more fashionable one at St. George’s in London? We must think carefully and come to an accord, for I swear before God, this is the last time I intend to go through with such a ceremony.”

* * *

Lord Kersey’s chin hit seven steps as he tumbled down the staircase shortly after dinner that evening. Matthew and the other gentlemen had been drawn out into the entry hall by a thunderous crash upstairs, followed shortly by the sound of someone bumping down the stairs.

“Is Lord Kersey drunk?” Fanny led the women who poured out of the drawing room as the unfortunate earl landed with a loud thud on the floor.

“I’ve no idea,” he replied, alert for some other explanation of the carnage. He’d been in Jackson’s enough to recognize when a man had had a good drubbing. The question now was with whom had he gone several rounds?

Immediately behind Kersey, Lord Wrotham trotted down the staircase, murder in his eyes. That look would certainly account for the downed lord’s appearance.

“What’s going on, Wrotham?” Lord Brack bent over, peering into the fallen man’s bloodied face.

The other ladies hovered around the body, exclaiming loudly at the unfortunate sight or offering advice.

“Is he conscious?” Fanny called over the din of voices.