Page 15 of Wedding the Widow

“I beg your pardon, Elizabeth.” Her lips twitched.

“Don’t.” Elizabeth smiled and patted her friend’s arm. “It was hideous when I bought it. The color of dark thunderclouds. See.” She turned the fabric to and fro in the mid-morning light that streamed into Wilding & Kent, the fabric warehouse her family had always patronized. The deep purple looked dull and unattractive.

“Then why did you buy it, goose?” Fanny shuddered and moved toward the counter strewn with bolts in every imaginable shade of green. “Would this look good on me?” She fingered a brilliant emerald-green cut velvet.

“Oh, yes. It makes your eyes sparkle. On me, however . . .” Elizabeth sighed. She wouldn’t wear green on a bet. It made her skin look like new cheese. “I got the purple because I was still grieving for Dickon, and I wanted to look hideous. I hurt so badly I wanted everyone who saw me to experience the hurt.”

Fanny peered closer at the expensive material. “It does remind one of a bruise, now that I think of it.”

Sputtering, Elizabeth turned back toward the gold. That would make a stunning dress for Charlotte’s wedding. Not flashy enough to take away attention from the bride, but subtly rich and elegant. With the right design and accessories, it would turn the head of—drat. She’d promised herself not to think of Lord Brack.

“You could try a white lace overlay instead.” Fanny had followed her back to the display of yellows and deeper golds. “Or perhaps gold on gold, if it’s much deeper. That would cause a few heads to turn.”

There was only one head she’d possibly want to turn, but even thinking his name brought on a blush. Only three nights ago, she’d made her disgraceful faux pas with Lord Brack. That humiliation still raw, she could scarcely contemplate seeing him face-to-face, much less speaking to him.

She’d wanted to hide away from the world, certain anyone seeing her guilty face would immediately know what had happened. However, when Fanny had sent round a note, asking her help in selecting dress materials for Charlotte’s wedding in early December, Elizabeth had been curious about what might have been said about her precipitous flight from Lyttlefield Park.

“You may be right about the gold.” She truly had little interest in this shopping excursion. Rather, she longed for a comfortable coze over a pot of tea to discover what had been said about her and, more importantly, what Lord Brack had said.

“To tell you the truth, Elizabeth, it won’t matter a jot what you wear. I vow Lord Brack will not take his eyes off you from the moment you enter Lyttlefield Park.”

A chill raced down her spine, and she shivered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Fanny. Lord Brack has been very kind, but—”

Fanny snorted and shot her a look that silenced her. “You don’t fool anyone, Elizabeth, least of all me. You and Brack were quite attracted to one another at both of Charlotte’s parties.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t yet called on you to propose.”

“I am certain he would do no such thing.” A churning in her stomach made Elizabeth catch hold of the counter.

“Why else would he have left Lyttlefield Park for London the same day you did?”

“What?” Elizabeth grabbed Fanny’s arm, dread descending on her. “Lord Brack did what?”

“He left for London on Sunday afternoon. I didn’t see him, but Georgie told me.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Lord Brack in London? Had he no respect for her wishes? Still . . . “He has not come to call on me.” Pray God he did not. “Perhaps Georgie was mistaken.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Fanny rocked back on her heels. “He will likely put in an appearance shortly. Trust me; he is smitten with you, my dear. Throughout the whole party, he might as well have shouted from the rooftops, ‘I’m in love with Elizabeth Easton.’”

“Fanny, for God’s sake, lower your voice,” Elizabeth hissed, quickly glancing to see if other patrons nearby marked their conversation. Fortunately, everyone seemed absorbed in making their own purchases.

“Do you deny it? Or your interest in him?”

Staring at her friend, Elizabeth’s heart sank. She’d tried to persuade herself that she did not miss Lord Brack’s company. That this longing she could not deny stemmed from still missing Dickon, but deep in her heart, it wasn’t true. “I did become very fond of Lord Brack when we were at Charlotte’s.”

The admission came slowly, painfully, and brought a rush of guilt with it. Her husband, whom she had loved very much, had been dead only a little less than a year and a half. Surely that was too short a time for her heart to heal?

“Very fond, is it?” Fanny gazed at her through lowered lids, reminding Elizabeth of a lazy lizard contemplating an unwary fly. “I’d say the kiss you two shared the night of the Harvest Festival spoke of more than fondness.”

“What?” Panic seized Elizabeth. She glanced from side to side, once more afraid of being overheard.

“Lord Lathbury and I had repaired to the tree line ourselves. That demonstration by the Harvest Lord and the Corn Maiden had much affected Lathbury in an amorous way, shall we say?” A smile slowly spread over her face. “I did just see you two embracing before Matthew demanded all my attention.”

“I . . . I didn’t dream anyone had seen us.” Elizabeth’s heart thudded so loudly she feared it could be heard.

“Let us step over to Fitzroy’s for some tea.” Fanny peered at her. “You look as though you need something.” She linked their arms and pulled Elizabeth out into the cold October rain. “Oh, dear. This shower came up unexpectedly. Here, use my umbrella.”

Fanny popped the umbrella up, and they stepped briskly across the street to Mr. Fitzroy’s tearoom. The warm, spicy smells of cakes and cookies immediately comforted Elizabeth, reviving her against the shock of Fanny’s revelation. The homey little shop sported four small tables, one blessedly free. Fanny steered them to it.

Sinking gratefully into a wicker chair, Elizabeth clasped her hands together, staring at the spotless white tablecloth while she caught her breath.