Page 56 of What a Widow Wants

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Putting her arms around Fanny’s shoulders, Georgina hugged her tightly.

“My dear, was that Lord Lathbury?” Jane peered out the window. “What has he done?”

“Nothing.” Wiping at her cheeks, Fanny tried to stem the flow, but the frustration of weeks of waiting for Matthew to contact her had built to a boiling point. His cavalier attitude just now had pushed her to goad him into that ill-considered action and now he would likely never speak to her again.

“This hardly seems nothing, Fanny. Here.” Jane passed her a handkerchief. “He must have done something.”

“We were to be married.”

“What? How splendid, Fanny.” Georgie squeezed her tighter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elizabeth gave her a chastened look. “I suspected this would happen after Brighton.”

“You said ‘were to be married.’ ” Jane sat back on the black leather seat. “Does that mean he’s jilted you?”

“I wouldn’t say jilt, for it was never properly announced; however, he apparently has no plans to marry me, because I picked a quarrel with him a few minutes ago. Now he’d rather die than marry me.” Sobs tore from her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Why pick a quarrel with him in the first place, Fanny?” Jane frowned, still looking directly at her. “If you wanted to marry him, you should have avoided a quarrel, at least until you were married.”

“I don’t know. It seems so stupid now. But he hadn’t called or written for almost six weeks and then he showed up here . . .” What had come over her? All she’d wanted to do when she’d seen him standing outside before the wedding was rail at him for not calling on her or even inquiring about Ella. She was his daughter and he couldn’t trouble himself at all about her welfare. She’d told him the truth about Ella. If he couldn’t accept that she didn’t know her parentage until recently, then he needed to stay away from them. But that’s not what she wanted either. Their predicament concerning Ella’s parentage had also slipped her mind. Of course she couldn’t marry Matthew, though she might die right here to think so.

Something was wrong with her. Her head had swirled in a muddle so she’d had to search and search to find Elizabeth’s coat. It had slid under the pew when they were trying to revive her and by the time she’d retrieved it she’d come upon Elizabeth confessing to Jane that she was increasing. That explained Elizabeth’s peculiar behavior in London and the reason for asking her help with Lord Brack, assuming he was the father.

She couldn’t imagine who else it could be. Elizabeth hadn’t looked at another man since she’d made Lord Brack’s acquaintance in August. The way they’d kissed the night of the festival should have made it obvious, but she and Matthew had been quite occupied at the time to be gazing and remarking about the other people they’d stumbled over that night.

That night had been strange beyond belief. Charlotte and Nash, Elizabeth and Lord Brack, she and Matthew had all been wildly passionate after the crowning. The only time Elizabeth and Brack had indulged according to what she’d told Jane. Would Charlotte also catch with child that quickly? Thank goodness she’d been drinking her tea at the time. Else she might have . . .

“No.” It wasn’t possible. Not like last time when she’d not taken the tea toward the end. She hadn’t stopped drinking it this time until two weeks after the last time she’d seen Matthew.

“What do you mean by ‘no,’ dear?” Jane’s eyes were bright as a hawk’s.

The woman was worse than a bird dog after a scent.

“Lord Lathbury has certainly showed up here. What is it you would deny?”

Fanny stared at her, trying hard to remember the last time she’d had her courses. She’d been so upset the past weeks that she’d not really paid attention to such things. There were other things she had noticed, however. A tiredness every morning when she awoke, as though she hadn’t slept well. Sudden bouts of heat, like the one Elizabeth had had in church, where her head felt like a flame. Soreness in her breasts she’d thought caused by her courses, though her courses, she now realized, hadn’t come on her since before her last journey to Kent. “My folly,” she answered at last. “I may have driven Matthew away for good when I need him more than ever.”

“Shall I speak to him this evening, Fanny?” Georgie laid her head on Fanny’s shoulder once more. “I have managed in the past few months to help bring Charlotte and Nash together when they certainly seemed at odds with one another.”

“Georgie, I do not think this is the time for such . . . measures.” Elizabeth spoke up, shooting Fanny a worried look. “You look very pale, my dear. Are you sure you are all right?”

Scrubbing her hand over her face as the telltale heat flushed her cheeks, Fanny shook her head. All she wanted was the quiet of her room and some time to decide what to do . . . and when to do it. She must tell Matthew of her suspicions, although after this afternoon’s encounter she had no idea if he would listen to her. “I simply need some time to rest, ladies. The wedding and Elizabeth’s collapse would have been quite enough to stir one’s emotions without the encounter with Matthew. I’ll skip the breakfast, have the coachman take me back to Lyttlefield Park with Elizabeth, and rest in my room until dinner. I daresay all will be fine by then.”

“If you are sure, my dear?” Staring at Fanny as though trying to see into her soul, Jane finally sighed. “I will come see to you first thing when I return to dress for dinner.”

“And I, Fanny.” Georgie nodded determinedly. “I will talk to Lord Lathbury during the breakfast if I can. Men always seem to want to confide in me.”

Lord help her if Georgie managed to wheedle anything out of Matthew, although a confession of his love would not come amiss presently.

* * *

The graying light around the edges of the curtain was enough to wake Fanny, who blinked and stretched. She had needed that nap more than she’d known. Sinking back into the warm mattress, she dreaded rising to get ready for dinner and another confrontation with Matthew, but it must be faced. She sat up and lit the lamp beside her bed. Time to make herself as ravishing as possible and try to win back her love.

Slipping her feet to the floor, she padded over to the window and pulled the curtains back to stare out at the gray landscape, a few tendrils of fog twining around a carriage stopped in the driveway. A late return from the wedding breakfast? It must have been a merry time, one she was sorry to have missed, but her head was much clearer after her rest, ready to take on the world—or at least Matthew.

She pulled the bell rope beside her bed, and pondered which gown to choose. She’d yet to wear the green with gold overlay she’d bespoke after her shopping trip with Elizabeth early last month, before her troubles with Matthew had begun. She’d made it with him in mind, of course. A very fetching garment that accentuated her breasts, always the way to claim his attention. Wandering back to the window, she noted the carriage now heading down the driveway. Returning to Wrotham Hall, perhaps, though dinner was supposed to be here tonight. A ray of sun shot through the clouds, brightening the landscape and bouncing off the shiny black lacquered body of the disappearing carriage.

Brightening? Fanny peered out the window again. The light was getting brighter, not dimmer with the failing of the light as she’d supposed.