Page 2 of Never Tempt a Widow

Chapter One

Norfolk, England, 1786

Rowland Cavendish was still inclined to grieve the loss of his wife, but a land-owning baronet was expected to be above the common sort and put a brave face on everything.

“It’s time. I know none of the family will be offended if you start looking for the next Lady Cavendish.” Rowland’s brother-in-law, Felix Ainsworth, swilled the brandy around his glass and stared at the amber liquid.

Rowland strode to the window and flung it open, relishing the frosty chill on his skin. Discomfort, even pain, had been the only distractions from Lavinia’s death, and he’d driven himself beyond his limits at every opportunity, anything to push that harrowing scene from his mind.

“Women die in childbirth all the time. It wasn’t your fault. You had the best doctors—no one blames you. We both loved my sister, and we know she can’t be equalled but she can be replaced.”

“I know,” Rowland snapped, pushing away from the window. He shook his head. “Forgive me. It’s hard.”

“Quite, quite.” Felix gulped his brandy. “I understand. But we live in uncertain times. And you’re the last of your line. Babies are delicate—most gentlemen aim for at least two sons. At the Norwich assembly rooms, I met the most charming—”

“Look, Felix, I know you mean well, but I’d appreciate it if you could let the matter lie, at least for now. I accept that I need a mother for little Edgar—and a wife to warm my bed would be welcome. But I need time.”

“With the putrid fever stalking the town, time may be one thing you do not have.” Felix’s tone had hardened, and Rowland stared at him. He hadn’t realised how strongly the man felt. Moving across the room, he clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good friend to me, Felix—not just a brother. I’ll never forget your kindness these last few months. I assure you—Edgar is well looked after.”

“Maybe, but you’re not. Shut that damned window, for heaven’s sake—you’ve nearly blown the fire out.”

Rowland obliged. He could feel the need rising up in him again, as it continued to do, every day since the loss of Lavinia. The need for something more in his life, the natural desire for a woman, and the ardent requirement of companionship—even love.

“I need to go out. Come with me.”

“Where are we going? Somewhere warm, I hope.”

Rowland closed the window on the frosty January afternoon. They’d need their caped greatcoats and extra stockings under their riding boots. “We’ll go to The George. Letty always appreciates a visit, and it’s the best place to pick up on what’s afoot in town. I like to know what’s going on with my tenants.”

Felix nodded energetically. “Indeed. With all this reported unrest going on in France, we don’t want any shenanigans here.”

“I think Norfolk’s too sleepy for shenanigans.” Rowland managed a smile. “I’d like to think that if my people fancied a revolt, they’d seek my permission first.”

The ride down Morden Hall’s extensive driveway and into Hadham was a bracing one—exactly what Rowland needed. By the time his grey stallion, Saxon, was led across the cobbled yard of The George to be stabled, he’d lost feeling in the tips of his ears and nose.

When he and Felix ducked their heads to enter, the landlady shot up from behind the serving table and dipped them a low curtsy. Conversation in the taproom ebbed away, but as Rowland looked around, all he saw were tugged forelocks and welcoming nods. No revolution here then. Yet.

He stifled a cough. The air was thick with pipe smoke, mingled with that from a particularly pungent log in the hearth. The wind, weak though it was, must be in from the East, blowing down the chimney. Some kind of revolving hood up there could resolve that—he must give the matter some thought.

“All’s well, Letty?” He placed his hat on the table and shouldered off his coat.

“It is indeed, sir.” Her face lost its cheerful glow. “I’m not behind on the rent, am I, sir?” she whispered.

“Indeed not.” He kept his voice equally soft. “You are the most prompt of all my tenants. I trust that means business is brisk?”

“Aye, thank you.” A tankard of ale was filled for him, and another for Felix. “This cold weather drives men indoors when they’re not working, and they all love a bit of fire in their bellies that they can’t get at home.”

He lifted his tankard and took a deep draught. Felix did the same—and poured ale down the front of his coat.

Rowland laughed. It felt good, and he realised he hadn’t done it for several months. “They don’t do short measures at this inn, sirrah! Here’s my kerchief. Wipe yourself up before the entire room discovers what a clumsy, distrustful oaf I have for a brother-in-law.”

Felix scowled at Rowland, then turned to the landlady. “It’s good ale, Mrs. Grand—very good ale indeed.”

She nodded, but there was a puzzling seriousness in her expression.

Rowland rested an elbow on the table. “Is all well, Letty? You know you have my ear whenever you need it.”