Page 35 of What a Widow Wants

“Then I will come as soon as I can possibly manage it.” He wound her arm through his and began to walk them slowly back into the woods. “This party leaves on Tuesday; however, I am to go to Scotland for a month for some shooting with Kinellan.”

“And you would indulge in that form of sport rather than another that we both could take pleasure in?” Fanny gazed up at him innocently, then licked her lips.

Matthew groaned. “I’ve been promised to Kinellan since Brighton. If I renege, he will call me every foul name from a turncoat to a slubberdegullion.”

“Just think of what I’ll call you—in bed. That should take away the sting of his epithets.” Squeezing close to him, Fanny rubbed her shoulder against his. “We could celebrate our betrothal tonight, in fact.”

“Tonight?” His voice deepened and a tingle shot down Fanny’s spine.

“You disapprove?”

“Not in the least.” He squeezed her hand. “I am delighted at the prospect. Shall I come to your room or you to mine?”

“You come to me—after you tell Kinellan your plans have changed.”

“Although you may have the winning cards now, my love, the play goes around the table.” He stopped them and folded her in his arms. “And eventually the dealer will take all.”

Grinning at how wonderfully well his hard body fit against hers, Fanny relaxed in his arms. “Any words of wisdom before tonight’s play?”

“Yes. Pray my mother does not catch us.”

CHAPTER 14

The gentlemen’s after-dinner conversation that evening centered chiefly around the day’s shooting. Comparisons were inevitably made between the before-luncheon and after-luncheon counts and every man had his own theory about how much a full stomach helped or hindered his aim. Matthew attempted to keep the conversation on an even keel, although Lord Selkirk would always advance the same opinion.

“Cheese and bread and a pint of ale out at the stands,” he thundered from the far end of the table. “That’s what we had when I was a lad, loading for my father. The counts don’t lie, Lathbury. All this heavy food at mid-day does nothing but put a man to sleep. Can’t shoot birds in your sleep.”

“You’ve advanced that theory time and again, Selkirk,” Matthew spoke up before anyone else could take the bait. “But I will tell you my numbers after lunch were almost double those of the early morning. Perhaps the quality or quantity of food has little to do with the skill of the hunter. However, gentlemen, I fear we have waxed too long on this subject.” He raised his hands as if to shoo them from the room. “I know my mother will send Gates to fetch us if we do not turn up shortly.”

Fleeing the wrath of the countess, the gentlemen headed out the door and to the right toward the central drawing room where the ladies had repaired over an hour before. Matthew hung back, allowing the rest of his guests to precede him. He sipped the last of his brandy, watching the parade of noblemen file out of the dining room, biding his time. When Kinellan spoke a final word to Selkirk, set his glass on the table, and looked to him expectantly, Matthew beckoned him away from the door. “A moment, Kinellan, before we join the ladies.”

“Knew it. You’ve had that hangdog look about you all night.” With a heartfelt sigh, his friend shook his head and cast his gaze on the decanter once more. “She’s turned you down again, hasn’t she? Your much touted plan didn’t work. Be done with her, Lathbury. You’ve taken up too much of your life with this woman.”

“On the contrary, she’s agreed to become my wife.” Matthew couldn’t help a smug smile.

Hand outstretched for the brandy, Kinellan stopped halfway to the sideboard, his face quite comical in its surprise. His mouth dropped open, and he turned his head from side to side like a dog not sure of its master’s command. “She’s accepted you? Just like that?”

“Afraid so. Will you wish me happy?” Matthew’s ear-to-ear grin almost hurt his face.

“Will I wish—” In two strides his friend reached him, grasped his hand, and shook it with a force that could have cracked bones. “I’ll dance a jig at your wedding. Well done, old chap.” He clapped Matthew on the back. “When’s the happy day?”

“Soon, I earnestly hope. I came perilously close to taking her in the meadow when she accepted me.” Matthew snared the decanter and poured them each a good amount.

“A gentleman goat, indeed.” Kinellan laughed and accepted his libation. “But if she’s accepted you, why the glum countenance?”

“There’s a condition to her acceptance.”

“What?” The earl frowned so deeply his brows almost touched his nose.

“Don’t look like that. It’s a reasonable request.” Matthew tossed back the contents of his glass, then poured another one. “She wants me to go to London to meet her daughter. Once we marry I will become her legal guardian and Fanny naturally wishes for us to meet before that. It won’t change the outcome of our marriage, but I couldn’t refuse such a request without sounding churlish.”

“I see. Well, put that way, I can’t see the hurt in it either. That still doesn’t explain your gloomy mood this evening.” Kinellan took a long pull at his glass.

“As we wish to marry with all speed, I’m heading to London with Mother and Beatrice next week, so I’ll have to cry off shooting with you in Scotland.”

Attempting a cry of protest, Kinellan choked, coughed, and spewed Matthew’s best French brandy all over the table. “No,” he wheezed at last. “You don’t mean to say you’re going to give up some of the best grouse shooting in all of Scotland to go to London to see a baby?”

“Not a baby. The child’s about five or six years old.”