Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow (11 page)

"You have already done what?" he asked.

"Invited the widow for you, and her family as well."

"You did not!"

"Most certainly I did. As soon as I saw you mooning over her like a calfling, I sent the invite over immediately. That is what you came to ask, is it not?"

"To procure invitations, yes, though I am surprised you have already done so. Have they replied?"

"Of course, dear. This is the Earl of Kettering's ball—one does not simply ignore an invite."

"No, but they could have declined."

"Do you wish to know if your Lady Romney will be in attendance, dear? If so, you need only to ask, and I will reveal the answer."

"You know perfectly well that is what I wish to know."

She chuckled. "You were always the easiest of my sons to get riled up. Yes, she is attending. They accepted a sennight at least."

His chest became warm, and his breathing attempted to tame itself. "Good. It is essential that she feels a part of society once more."

Lady Hamson held on to the ladder and put her other hand on her hip. "I surely hope you do not plan on alienating all of the other lovely ladies and only dancing with her. You are my son—you are expected to do your part."

"Yes, Mother. I promise to behave and dance with the other ladies, though if I do not dance at least a set with Lady Romney, I fear my heart may break."

"Your heart has lasted all these years and been a great beating force for more than one young lady, so do not go about displaying this nonsense. Besides, have you thought of what to do about Miss Hemming yet?"

"I have only just now returned from that deucedly awkward conversation. It was all I could do to stand there and hear their gossip about Lady Romney. Another few minutes, and I would not have been able to hold my temper."

Lady Hamson began to descend the ladder. There was nothing more exciting than idle gabble when one was hosting the same events those gossiped about were attending. "And what happened?" She shooed him away as he attempted to assist her. "I am forty, George. I am not some simpering old lady who needs help all the time."

What foolishness was this? "Mother, you are over sixty! Or need I remind you?"

Her jaw dropped. "George Verl Hamson, if you utter such lies around the staff, I shall have you horsewhipped. Now, head to the drawing room. I will have tea brought in, and you and I shall discuss all that has happened with Miss Hemming and her mama. Even the final preparations for the ball can be postponed for this news."

George sighed. Why were women so difficult? "I cannot stay long. I must be home to prepare for the ball myself."

"So you shall. So you shall. I only ask for a flash of your time. Now run along as I give the last of these instructions, and we will take an opportunity to take respite and cease for a minute or two."

CHAPTER TWENTY:

George helped himself to a few finger sandwiches, as well as some sliced fruit and cold meat as he cooled his heels in his mother's drawing room. He had nearly finished the sandwiches by time she came in.

"Oh, perfect! I see Cook has outdone herself again.” She sat down on the chair nearest him. "I do not know how that woman does it. Never have I had a cook who works such miracles. All of my acquaintances are madly envious—as they ought to be!" Lady Hamson gathered up some meat and fruit from the tea tray upon the small table at her right. "Though I did tell her she could hire as many people as she needed to help with the dinner we have for our guests tonight. No fewer than three turkeys, six pheasants, and eight Guinea fowl, as well as all the other courses. You are remaining for dinner, are you not, George? It will upset my table completely if you did not stay." She passed him a cup and saucer.

He swallowed down a sip of tea. "Of course I am coming. I know your rules well, and I would much rather have my hide intact tomorrow. You are always quick to remind me that you will guarantee not a stitch of my hide is left if I were to abandon you before dinner."

"You are very wise, George." She grinned and then sipped her tea. "I think you will be very happy you have planned to stay, since I am seating you next to Lady Romney throughout the meal."

He nearly dropped his cup. "Are you jesting?"

Lady Hamson set her tea down and placed her hands on her lap. "Anyway, I have an apology to give you. I am doing my best to make amends so as not to harm those you care for."

"Mother?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Indeed, he had never seen her look so unsettled before. When her gaze met his, he was astonished at the depth of emotion he saw within them. "I was cruel to mention Lady Romney in such a light earlier. You were correct to leave me in a huff. I would have done the same, had I come to someone I loved and asked for guidance only to be scorned and my choices mocked."

"Do not be so hard upon yourself. You are not the only one who has such thoughts about her."

"Yes, dear, but I should have been the one to champion you." She reached over and clutched his hand. "I was worried for you and did not want to see you throw away your future. In my own conceit, I had forgotten you were a grown man, wise enough to make your own decisions."

He looked down at their joined hands. "Nay, not very wise. I fear I harmed her most bitterly."

"George, no!" She squeezed his fingers. "Did you tell her what had been said?"

"Only that others were saying it, not whom."

She shook her head. "I feel so much worse now. The poor dear. How did she react?"

"With more grace than anyone I know." His gaze connected with hers. "Yet that is not all. Indeed, it is much worse." He did not know how he was to bring up the details of her marriage, but he felt his mother must understand this small portion. "I fear the old earl never touched her. Not once.”"

She gasped. "No." She sat still for some time, contemplating that little bit of information, and gave a tiny shake of her head. A frown formed upon her lips. "George, you no doubt know more of the situation, and I applaud you for not revealing it all to me. I cannot imagine what this young lady has gone through, but it grieves me more to hear of her innocence and my heartlessness in assuming otherwise."

"Mother, my feelings for Miss Poleton—nay, Lady Romney—grow deeper and more eagerly real than even I was willing to acknowledge. I care for her, yet she does not desire to marry again. She wishes to hide herself away and protect those she loves, to buy a house and live alone forever.”

"She needs you, my son."

"Aye, she does. However, she is headstrong, and will require a lot of coaxing into seeing herself and all the good that she is."

"Will you forgive me, George?"

“Of course. I have found that life is not about what one's neighbor thinks of you, but how you are willing to think of another."

"This is the point where I mock you and say—do not repeat such nonsense again. Yet, I wonder, my boy, if you have not uncovered something much more kind and meaningful than society would have you believe. Can you imagine such charity? If we all stopped looking so outwardly? Why, all of London could become a much more joyful place."

"Ironically, I do not think this about London. No, I merely see the error of my ways and the cruelties of my words, thoughts, and actions. Because of me, there is an incredibly wonderful lady who feels less of herself than she should." He cleared his throat and let out a breath of air. "It makes me see life on a grander scale. A much less selfish scale, as well, for when would I have ever looked past my own broken heart to see hers?"

"Oh, George. You are deliberating very strongly on this, are you not?"

"My heart has thought of nothing else at the moment. It has struggled with this a fortnight at least. Truly, before she came back into my life, I only pitied myself and my loss of her. Never once did I worry about her and her existence and what horrors she must be facing." He suddenly stood up. "Mother, I am afraid to admit I was envious of the earl, but I could not look past my own egotism to see her fears and worries, or even how much she might have missed me and dreaded the decision she was forced to make."

He clutched the back of his chair. "To think that I might have protected her from the old man's folly, thus creating happiness for us both. To think that I was the only one in the position to do so. I cannot breathe, my heart clutches so painfully within me, when I think of what she endured because I was not a gentleman, merely a lad, and not mature enough to save her myself."

"Dearest, what could you have done?"

He shook his head. "Anything. Anything would have been better than to see how much she has faded and been lost. Yet, I did not know—I did not see what was right before me. I believed I was in love—but heartlessly, the only one I truly loved was myself."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

Catherine walked into the grand ballroom of the Earl of Kettering's ball. It was dripping with floral arrangements and aglow with a thousand candles at least. Never had she seen such a sumptuous display of elegance. The crush of people was dressed beautifully for the occasion and added to the elegance all around. Everything was splendidly shining, shimmering, and beautiful.

She ran her gloved hands over her peach-colored gown and wondered for the tenth time that evening if she was presentable enough. Sophia had found the pattern in the latest fashion plate from Paris, and immediately sent out to have the
modiste
make it up for Catherine. Its several layers of thin flounces kept to the latest style, while creating a new and fun addition to the ballroom.

"You look beautiful." Sophia smiled. "Do not fidget so, for I can guarantee no one else is being noticed quite as much as you are."

She straightened. "I am not overly fidgeting, am I?"

"Any more, and people will begin to wonder if you are having a conniption."

Catherine's cheeks turned red as she whipped open her fan. "Of all the things to say to me."

Sophia giggled and whisked her fan out as well. "My dear, the best part about being family is that I can say practically anything and get away with it."

"Outrageous!" was the best thing she could come up with. "Goodness, you are in a playful mood tonight."

"I would hope so!" Sophia looked around and then pulled her husband close to them. "We are attending the most talked-about ball of the season. We have just now been welcomed by the Earl and Countess of Kettering themselves, and are about to mingle with some of the most influential people of all London on the arms of my dashing husband. How could I not be in the most excited of moods?"

Everything Sophia said, everything that enlivened her dear daughter-in-law, caused Catherine to pause. She had yet to see anything of Lord Hamson in this sad crush, but she had no doubt that he would be there. And she could not decide what would be more nerve-racking—being in his presence and watching him flirt attendance on all the young ladies, or having him take her out onto the dance floor. Which was preposterous fantasy because she had made it very clear to him how she felt about a budding relationship. "Then go and mingle. I will see about procuring some seats for us." At Sophia's direct look, she added, "I have every intention of enjoying myself and dancing, but we both know that without somewhere to sit after each set, we will be exhausted."

Sophia grinned, satisfied easily enough that Catherine meant to mingle as well. It was then that a larger gentleman, another guest, approached the couple.

"The new Earl of Huntingdon. Welcome. It is great to see you, young man! And this must be your charming wife . . ."

Catherine took that opportunity to slip away. The crowd nearest the door was rather suffocating, and she moved farther into the ballroom. It was not until she found the back wall that she was able to breathe again. Finally, a bit of space amongst so many people. At this end, there were only thirty or so individuals clustered about in small groups as they chatted. Following the wall and maneuvering around chairs, she eventually came to one of the many balconies around the right side of the room.

She did not know if it was the heat of the room, or if agitation had become an old friend again, but suddenly, she wanted to be anywhere than where she was. Had not her late husband always reminisced about the great balls and galas his wife would throw? How no one in London would dare miss something the perfect hostess invited them to. Forgetting all about procuring seats, Catherine took a deep breath and walked into the cool, damp night and away from the remembered criticisms that were close to haunting her once more.

It had begun to rain. Thankfully, the balcony offered a bit of protection from the drizzle, for she was not sure how much longer she could remain in such a stifling place. As soon as she walked out, she shut the door and hoped no one saw her. There was no reason for such a panic to overwhelm her, but there it was nonetheless. Why did she think about coming to London? Why did she not go straight on to Bath?

Catherine already knew she was nothing but a mere shadow to the late countess. Why come here to be reminded of such insecurities? Why treat herself to such—good heavens. Her hands began to tremble. What a state she had gotten herself into! Taking a few more deep breaths, she attempted to focus on the happiness around her. She was at a ball, not a medieval hanging. This event had nothing to do with her late husband or his wife. Nothing. She was here because Lord Hamson's family invited her, and nothing more. Was she not supposed to be enjoying herself, wearing a gown and laughing on the arms of exciting new people?

Then why was she here, all alone, excluding herself from a place that could distract her from her deplorable existence?

She felt the warmth from the ballroom and heard the buzz of the crowd before she realized that the door had been opened.