Page 54 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“You aren’t taking anyone with you, my lady?” Rose pretended to be removing a piece of lint from the tailored jacket when she cut her eyes slyly toward Charlotte.

“A little solitude after all the constant company in London will be a welcome respite.” Charlotte placed her most fetching bonnet on her head and adjusted it to her satisfaction.

“As you say, my lady,” Rose sniffed. “You’ve put on fine feathers to impress the grooms, it seems.” Her eyes widened as she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my lady. Not . . . not again?”

Charlotte cocked her head, truly befuddled. Then it dawned on her. Rose had been her maid since her come-out. She had been with her all through the miserable debacle of her secret affair with Edward.

With a laugh, Charlotte squeezed the maid’s hand. “No, I promise, I am not in love with James or Clarence. But who knows who may see me going to or from the stable? One should always be dressed impeccably, no matter what.”

Rose’s shoulders slumped, her worried frown lifting. “Well, you’ll certainly turn the head of whoever sees you, my lady.”

Charlotte smiled at the compliment. She prayed the woman spoke true.

Rose headed into the dressing room to put away the discarded day dress and Charlotte slipped out into the hall. No one stirred, but she wasn’t sure where Georgie might be. The secrecy might seem silly, but she didn’t want anyone to know what she was up to until she returned, a betrothed woman. She hurried to the end of the corridor and down the servants’ staircase to the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs, she paused to listen to Mrs. Hatchette giving orders to the scullery maid about the dishes.

Holding her breath, Charlotte eased across the archway unseen and quietly opened the door to the garden. She ducked around the side of the house and, once out of sight of any of the kitchen staff who might look out the back door, stood gauging the next part of her adventure—the stable.

Chapter 19

From the kitchen garden, Charlotte fled stealthily toward the stables. Now how to saddle up without anyone being the wiser? If she took her groom, even if she swore him to secrecy, he still might talk. Such tittle-tattle in the servants’ hall was as good as an on-dit in the Times. But drat it, she had no idea how to saddle a horse.

Why hadn’t she gotten Edward to show her how to do it? Of course, she’d thought he’d always be there to do it for her. And then, they had had more important things to do, like eloping. She paused, prepared for the ache to settle in her heart as it always had when thinking of him.

Over the years since that horrible night, she’d thought of Edward almost constantly. First, in grief over his loss, then as an escape from life with Sir Archibald. She would lay in bed at night and remember the first time she and Edward had kissed. They had ridden out, even though the sky had threatened rain. As they approached the far side of the estate, it had begun to pour. He had called, “I told you so” and led their horses to a thick copse of trees. She’d slid off Bella straight into his arms and then raised her face to his. The touch of his lips had been both expected and completely surprising. He had held her to his strong chest as the rain drenched them and she had been overwhelmed by a sense of safety and happiness she’d never experienced before in her life.

After that day, she’d plotted incessantly how they could be together. Edward had been reluctant at first, but she’d coaxed him to help her plan their escape. She’d known it would be a shocking mésalliance—she would be shunned by everyone in the ton—but she hadn’t cared. All she had cared about had been Edward’s arms around her, his kiss on her lips, and a life with love and happiness and children.

That dream had been snuffed out in Whetstone. And for six years, whenever she had thought of him, her heart had ached for what might have been.

This time, however, only excitement and anticipation at the thought of seeing Lord Wrotham pulsed within her. Another sign, perhaps, that her present course was the true one. That Nash had been the one to save Edward still left her in awe. Did that circumstance have anything to do with her current affection for the Earl of Wrotham? She had certainly thought more of him and less of Edward since his revelation. Perhaps it was time to put aside her dreams of Edward and embrace Nash wholeheartedly. The two men resembled one another physically only in their height and dark coloring. But in their manner, in their caring natures and regard for her, they seemed almost as one. If she could make a life with Nash, she might finally find the love and happiness she had been denied for so long.

Charlotte crept into the stable, beguiled anew by the warm, comforting smell of horses, hay, and manure. Now to devise a way to have the groom saddle her horse without asking any questions.

The answer came with such startling clarity and simplicity that it took her breath.

She squared her shoulders and strode into the middle of the stable. “Clarence! James!” At her bold call, the grooms came scampering out of several stalls, one tucking the tail of his work shirt into his pants.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Please saddle Ajax for me immediately.” She glanced from James, perhaps fifteen years old, to Clarence, who might be a pair of years older, both local lads who had been on the property when she took possession. She’d had little interaction with them herself, usually sending word to have her horse readied for a ride.

They exchanged a glance before looking back at her.

“Will there be others in the party, my lady?” Clarence asked, looking behind her.

“No. I’ll ride alone today.” Charlotte raised her chin and tried to affect a nonchalant air. In truth, her stomach twisted itself in knots.

“Very well, my lady. Clarence, I’ll ready her ladyship’s horse. You get yours saddled so you can accompany her.” James turned toward the stall where her horse whinnied.

“That won’t be necessary, Clarence. I am going for a short ride in the park today. I won’t need a groom with me.”

It had occurred to Charlotte, out of the blue, that she was mistress here. She need not answer to father, husband, or stable boy. If she wanted to ride without a groom, then by God she would. Who could stop her?

“Ride alone, my lady?” James stared, uncomprehending. “But you always ride with one of us to protect you.”

“I’ll not be gone long, and I doubt I’ll need protection in my own park.” Why would the lads argue with her?

“There’s robbers about, my lady,” Clarence said, his face grave. “It’s not safe no more.”