Page 24 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“Yes.” Lady Cavendish leaned toward him, conspiratorially. “We are celebrating our move to the country, you see.”

“So let the celebration begin. Oh!” Another young woman, a trifle older than Lady Cavendish, had flounced into the room and stopped dead, obviously not expecting his presence.

Nash bowed. “Indeed, my lady, a joyous sentiment that all can agree with.”

Lady Cavendish dropped his arm and reverted to the role of staid hostess. “Lady Stephen Tarkington, may I present the Earl of Wrotham? The earl is my neighbor, Lady Stephen. Lord Wrotham, Lady Stephen is my cousin’s sister-in-law.”

The lady curtsied as he bowed and remained standing. There was no telling how many more women might come bounding into the room.

“If I am to return in good time, I fear I must say au revoir for the moment.” Odd, but he suddenly felt reluctant to leave. Lady Cavendish had surely beguiled him this afternoon. Perhaps he had misjudged her at Almack’s. Who was to say Garrett hadn’t dragged her off against her will?

“Until then, my lord. We will look forward to it.” Her generous smile sent a warm thrill through him.

“As will I, my lady.” Nash bowed again and left, relieved, excited, and puzzled at the turn of events. Such an intriguing woman. Dinner tonight should prove enlightening indeed.

Chapter 7

“Oh, my dear Lord.” Charlotte sighed and plopped onto the sofa beside her cousin, completely spent.

“So Lord Wrotham has accepted your invitation, Charlotte.” Jane sipped her tea, eyebrows raised. “Well, well. I believe he has a certain admiration for you, dear. He seems to have forgiven your rudeness at Almack’s.”

“I was not rude, Jane. Mr. Garrett was. Should I have made a scene instead? And Wrotham said he came only because Father asked him to.”

“Indeed.” Jane leaned closer to her. “And why, pray tell, would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Lord Wrotham said he’d received a letter from Father asking him to call on me.” Charlotte shook her head. Such behavior by her odious parent was baffling. “Father has not taken a smidgeon’s interest in me for six years. Then, the day after Almack’s, he appeared and invited himself to dinner. He spent two hours admonishing me about my behavior the night before and threatening to take a hand in my affairs if I became embroiled in a scandal.”

It had not been an idle threat. Given the opportunity and enough of an excuse, her father would find a way to take over her life again, she had no doubt. “Now he’s asking strangers to look after my welfare. Trying to rule my life again.” She would not brook his interference. Not this time.

“For once I am grateful not to have parents to interfere with my life.” Fanny smoothed her hands over her light blue mull gown. “It’s bad enough to have Theale forever questioning me.”

“Fanny, you should be thankful he’s not as high a stickler as some would be about his sisters-in-law.” Jane turned back to Charlotte, idly swirling the tea in her cup. “At least Wrotham seems to have forgiven you.” She chuckled to herself and sipped. “Most important because we are now neighbors and may be much in company.” A mischievous smile played over her face. “He’s a very eligible parti, you know.”

“I know, Jane. You have not ceased to remind me of that since the invitations went out.” Charlotte laughed. “He is almost good enough to make me throw away my resolve never to marry again.”

“Really, Charlotte.” Jane sniffed and jammed her cup down in the saucer with a vicious clink. “You should pitch that resolution into the middle of the lake. Lord Wrotham would be the perfect match for you.”

“Perhaps.” Charlotte remembered his deep blue eyes, the warmth that tingled through her whenever she touched him, and sighed. “I have already made my choice, Jane. I will not have men control me as they have in the past. Not even one who—” She bit back the words about Lord Wrotham’s startling revelation regarding his involvement with Edward. She would treasure that secret for herself alone a while longer.

“’Not even one who . . . ?” Jane leaned forward, all ears.

“Not even one who seems perfect on the surface.” Charlotte sipped her tea and leaned back, trying not to smile. Lord Wrotham might not be a man to marry, but he would certainly be one with whom she’d enjoy having a discreet affair. A thrill of excitement shot through her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A vision arose of them together, tangled in the sheets, his strong arms around her, his heat pressed against her . . .

“Charlotte. Whatever is wrong?”

As if a shower of cold rainwater had doused her, Charlotte shivered as Jane’s face swam into view. “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?” Drat. Had she said something whilst thinking of her and Lord Wrotham?

“Your face is splotched, as if you’ve got a fever. Are you well?”

Fever indeed.

“I am fine, little mother hen.” Charlotte felt her cheeks, which did seem quite warm. “I suppose the tea was a trifle too hot for me.”

“Tea. Yes, of course, that must be it.” Jane lifted her cup, scrutinizing Charlotte all the while.

“Charlotte,” Fanny broke in from her perch on the Queen Anne armchair opposite the sofa, her brows puckered. “Isn’t this the same furniture as in your town house? Sir Archibald’s town house? I know this is the chair you always sat in . . . and the sofa is the same.” She glanced around the room, her frown deepening. “It’s all the same.” Her gaze fell on the fireplace and she gasped. “Even the Adams mantel. You must be mad. It had to have cost a fortune to gather all the pieces.”

Charlotte laughed and patted Fanny’s hand. “No, it cost me only the transportation from London to Lyttlefield. These are the same pieces that were in the town house.”