Page 25 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“Dear God.” Fanny leaned forward, her face pale. “You stole them, Charlotte? What possessed you? Your rotter of a stepson will have you clapped in irons!”

Charlotte laughed and caressed the sofa’s beautiful floral upholstery. “Edgar may have some choice words to say to me, but he can do nothing. I was completely within my rights to take them. They are mine.” She surveyed her sweet revenge, fruit of a scheme begun before her marriage.

“You are looking at a master chess player, Fanny.” Jane nodded toward Charlotte. “She planned her strategy six years ago in her marriage settlement.”

“I had Father insist that anything—clothes, furniture, cattle—that I brought to the marriage would revert to me upon Sir Archibald’s death. Then I took a small inheritance from my grandmother and furnished everything in the London town house with the exception of Sir Archibald’s private office, library, and the master chamber. All the furniture, linens, bedclothes, my trousseau. Everything. Including my horse and carriage. When Edgar takes possession of the house, he’ll have one cracked leather chair, a desk, a library table, two straight-back chairs, and a rickety old bed.” A thrill of satisfaction washed through her every time she thought of the look on her stepson’s face when he realized he barely had a place to lay his head.

“Oh my dear.” Fanny’s peals of laughter warmed the room. “You are a genius, Charlotte. I will take care to stay on your good side.”

Fisk entered and announced, “Mrs. Wickley,” and gave way to a petite brunette, hardly old enough to be out of the schoolroom.

Charlotte rose, utterly at a loss. This person wasn’t on her guest list. Had Father sent her as well? She stepped toward the girl, who looked frightened as a mouse in a cat’s parlor.

To her surprise, Jane rose and swept toward the trembling young woman. “Maria! How delightful you could come. Charlotte, may I present Maria Wickley, the daughter-in-law of my cousin? Her husband was tragically another victim of Waterloo. A most sad story.”

She stared, aghast. This child a widow?

“Maria,” Jane continued, “this is Lady Cavendish, our hostess for the weekend. I promise she will take good care of you.”

Maria bobbed a curtsy and said in a small, high voice, “Thank you, my lady. You and Lady John are too kind to me.” She looked around with jerky movements of her head, as though frightened of something.

Jane embraced her friend and ushered her over to the sofa, leaving Charlotte gaping in the middle of the room. She shot an inquiring glance at Fanny, who shrugged and muttered, “What else would you expect from Jane?”

More than a little perturbed at this unexpected addition to the weekend, Charlotte nevertheless returned to the sofa, hoping to discover who her additional guest was and how she had come to be here.

“My dear, how well you are looking,” Jane crooned, patting the child’s hand. “The journey from Oxfordshire seems to have done you a world of good. I hope this weekend will be a pleasant diversion from your grief.”

“Thank you, Lady John.” The girl tore at the handkerchief in her lap. “You have been ever so kind.” She risked a glance toward Charlotte. Liquid brown eyes in a sweet, heart-shaped face would be lovely without their stricken appearance.

“And I must thank you properly, Lady Cavendish, for your invitation. I am sure such good company will help cheer me. I have been so sad this past year, since William died.” Maria twisted and tugged at the handkerchief so tightly, Charlotte feared she would tear it asunder. “My husband, my lady. Ensign William Wickley, of the 52nd Light Infantry. His commanding officer, Sir John Colborne, wrote to me that William fell during an advance that routed the French. His sacrifice helped turn the battle, he said.” She bit her lips and sighed. “But I do still miss him, you see.”

“William’s father is my cousin, Charlotte.” Jane took up the tale. “I visited him on my way back from Scotland and met Maria, who lives with his family now. Her family resides nearby and there had always been the understanding of a marriage between them.” She smiled. “To which the young couple agreed completely. But young Mr. Wickley felt it his patriotic duty to fight when Boney threatened once more. Their parents consented to their marriage being moved up several years so they could wed before he went off to war.”

“Several years? Then you were not out when you married?” She had been right about the girl still being in the schoolroom.

“Oh no, my lady.” Maria sighed. “I was only sixteen when we wed. I will soon be eighteen, although I will not of course have a come-out.”

Stunned, Charlotte could not help asking, “Were you married long, Mrs. Wickley?”

“A very short time, my lady. We wed in May, once the call for troops had gone out. He was gone within the week. I never saw him again.” One tear cascaded down her cheek and she dabbed it with the abused handkerchief.

“Such a tragic story, my dear.” Jane squeezed her hand. “Lord Byron should take you for his next subject.”

“My condolences, Mrs. Wickley.” Charlotte’s heart went out to the poor girl. “You are very welcome here at Lyttlefield. I hope we will be able to cheer you a little.” Another challenge for the hostess, but she believed she could cope. Except she now had an odd number of women that would throw her dinner placements askew.

Charlotte frowned. Such disorganization set her teeth on edge. Even with the inclusion of Lord Wrotham, they would be odd. She would need to relinquish her partner, it seemed, for the good of the party, although perhaps she might be able to secure him for one dance at least.

“Lord Sinclair, Lord Fernley, and Lord Brack.”

Fisk’s announcement sent a flurry of activity through the party. Charlotte rose to greet the gentlemen and make introductions. Jane moved to take Lord Sinclair’s arm. She had suggested him when George Abernathy had sent his regrets. She had just finished introducing Maria when Fisk returned to announce Elizabeth and Georgie.

“Jemmy, Jemmy!” With a squeal, Georgie launched herself at her brother. “How wonderful to see you again.”

They embraced, then Lord Brack stood back, laughing. “Georgina, you have not changed at all, my dear. Still the hoyden at heart.” He bussed her cheek. “I have missed you too.”

“And we shall have the whole of the weekend to catch up, my dear. But wait.” She beckoned Elizabeth, and Charlotte nudged her over. “You must meet my dearest friend.”

While Georgie performed that introduction, Charlotte surveyed the room. Fanny had engaged Lord Fernley in a conversation about his cattle, Jane, with Maria in tow, already flirted with Sinclair, and Georgie’s brother was explaining the workings of his curricle to Georgie and Elizabeth. She lacked only Lord Fernley’s cousin and the return of Lord Wrotham. Where the devil was Mr. Marsh?