The Wary Widow (2 page)

Two

Chloe stood and rubbed her palms down her black gown as she watched her cousin walk towards her with a very elegant woman on her arm. She suddenly realized how inadequate she looked. Both Lizzie and the other woman could have stepped out of a page of Ackerman’s; Chloe could have stepped out of the grave for all the black she wore.

“Chloe dearest,” Lizzie called with a dazzling smile as she approached. “I would like to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Weston. Your Grace, this is my dear cousin, Mrs. Chloe Hawthorne.”

Chloe dipped into a curtsey, but the duchess caught her hand and clasped it between her own. “I will have none of that, Mrs. Hawthorne,” she scolded playfully. “All these people dipping and bowing gets rather tiring. Besides, if you’re Lady Elizabeth’s cousin, you are practically family.”

Astonished at the woman’s candor, Chloe merely smiled and brought
herself
erect again. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I will remember to hold myself upright in the future.”

        
The duchess laughed a warm laugh that quickly put Chloe at ease. “See that you do. How delighted I am that you have brought your cousin to Town, Elizabeth.”

“Not nearly as delighted as I am.” Lizzie beamed at her, but Chloe still felt unsure as to how she should proceed.

She was not used to being in the presence of aristocracy. Her upbringing in the country had been simple, she’d married a simple farmer, and she knew very little of Town life. The only connection she had to society was through her cousin, though they'd spent little time together in the last few years. As Lizzie approached marriageable age, her life became rather more complicated, so her visits to the country had become fewer and rather far between. Never mind that their mothers didn’t quite see eye-to-eye. Aunt Prudence never fully grasped why her sister had sunk so low to marry a pig farmer. But Chloe knew why, and she was glad her parents were in love.

But Chloe and Lizzie had always been kindred spirits, and thankfully her cousin had given her a copy of
Debrett’s
Peerages upon her arrival. She’d stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, studying in preparation for this evening. Which probably accounted for her excessive yawning.

According to the book, Katherine Hart, Duchess of Weston had gained her title nearly four years ago through her marriage to William Hart, Duke of Weston. But she was high born through and through, having been the only daughter of the
Marquess
of
Eastleigh
.

Needless to say, Chloe hadn’t expected someone of her exalted status to be so friendly.

“Do say you’ll join the ladies and me for tea tomorrow afternoon. You and Lady Elizabeth would be a welcome addition to our little garden party.”

Lizzie’s eyes lit up as if it were Christmas morning. “We would be honored, Your Grace,” she replied, not bothering to ask Chloe if she indeed wanted to attend.

Chloe stifled a sigh. It didn’t really matter anymore if she wanted to attend or not. This was Lizzie’s Season, and Chloe was her chaperone. That meant wherever Lizzie went, there Chloe would be.

“I shall look very forward to it, Your Grace.” Chloe started to dip into a curtsey, but stopped herself mid-way with a sheepish grin.

The duchess laughed again. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

***

“We’ve been here well over an hour, Michael. Can we please go now?” Andrew approached his brother, who stared intently at the twirling couples in front of him.

“Just a few more minutes,” Michael replied absently.

Andrew couldn’t imagine what had captured his brother’s undivided attention, but he decided to make the most of it.

“If you see Elizabeth, tell her I’ve gone already. I don’t wish to be dragged into another dance. I’ll be in Ben’s study when you’re ready.”
“Fine, fine,” Michael replied with a wave of his hand.
Andrew shrugged and ducked out of the ballroom. He certainly cared about his betrothed, but he detested going to balls with her. Hours and hours of dancing and mingling with people he didn’t know, or didn't like, could be exhausting. Elizabeth knew this and typically was content to go along without him.

Tonight, however, was a different matter altogether. His sister-in-law, Phoebe, would have his head on a platter if he missed her first ball of the Season.

“Andrew?”

Speak of the Devil...

He turned to see the subject of his most recent thoughts trailing after him down the hall. She wore a gown of dark green silk that made the russet streaks in her hair shine like a brand new copper pot.

“Ah, my favorite sister-in-law!”

Phoebe approached and they shared a brief hug. “Never mind that I’m your
only
sister-in-law,” she replied with a smile. “Where are you off to?”
“I had hoped to find Benjamin in his study and join him for a drink.”

“Your brother is where he should be
—
in the ballroom doing his duty as host to this party, and if you even think of pulling him away
—
”

“All right, my lady,” Andrew conceded with a laugh. “I’ll drink alone, then.”

“I’m afraid that just won’t do, Andrew. You should be paying far more attention to your betrothed than you are.”

Andrew rolled his eyes
.
He had hoped his engagement to Elizabeth would turn his sisters’ attentions to Michael. Apparently they could find a way to meddle regardless.
“I’ve already done my duty by her this evening, in an exquisitely executed waltz, if I do say so myself.”

Phoebe gave him a sharp look
—
the one that made even her own husband cower. “Duty or not, you should keep a closer eye on her. The fortune hunters are out in droves this Season.”

A niggling of doubt began to creep in as Phoebe stood there looking at him, waiting for his response, but he ignored it. Elizabeth was an honorable girl and she would never think to break their engagement. Besides, she couldn't do much better than him. He was a Wetherby, after all, and a rich one at that. Far richer than many titled men, thanks to his careful investments, and far better looking. Why, she'd be a fool to break things off.

He turned back to his sister-in-law and sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to stay a little while longer, if for no other reason than to appease the marchioness. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if it meant getting to know that bizarre little chaperone of Lady Elizabeth’s.

“Fine. You win,” he said. “Lead the way.”

***

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

Chloe looked up, startled, to find her
cousin’s
betrothed standing before her, hand outstretched.

Dance? Why on earth would Lord Andrew request such a thing of her? Not only was his fiancée in attendance,
but
there were several dozen other pretty debutantes milling about, waiting for a gentleman to ask them to dance. She grew suddenly nervous at the thought of participating. It had been well over a year since she’d engaged in such an activity, and never in such experienced company. Sam had been rather unremarkable when it came to dancing.

Besides, she was here as a chaperone. To abandon her post would leave her charge unattended, and Chloe was never one to shirk her duties.

She cleared her throat to answer, but Lord Andrew spoke first.

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

Blast it all, how did he know what she was going to say?

“It’s not that I wouldn’t love to dance with you, my lord, but...well, there are many reasons that I cannot.”

Lord Andrew’s lips turned up into a devilish grin. “Let me guess. You cannot leave your cousin unattended. Is that right?”

Chloe blinked. “Well, yes, but that is not the only
—
”

“And, judging by your attire, I’m guessing it’s been some time since you’ve danced.”

Chloe swallowed against the sting to her pride and nodded, somewhat perturbed by his ability to read her mind.

His smile grew wider at her silence.

Arrogant rogue.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Well, Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ve been charged with keeping a better eye on my fiancée in order to maintain my position as her betrothed. Therefore, you and I will be spending a great deal of time in one another’s company.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with your fiancée, then?”

Lord Andrew turned toward the dance floor where Lizzie whirled about with some other gentleman. “It would appear she is otherwise engaged at the moment. Besides, it isn’t done to monopolize all of one particular girl’s dances.”

Chloe knew that, of course. Though she was a simple country girl, she still understood certain things about society and its protocol.

“Furthermore, if you don't dance with me, I'll be forced into dancing with Lady Bertha.”

Chloe followed Lord Andrew's gaze across the room to where Lady Bertha stood by the refreshment table. In all honesty, that was the last place Lady Bertha should have been. Where Chloe needed to gain a stone or two, Bertha needed to lose no less than three. She had a good feeling the crème puffs that she stuffed surreptitiously into her mouth were not going to help in her pursuit for a husband.

She looked back to the hand he proffered and gave him a sheepish smile. “I suppose I cannot say ‘no’ then, can I?”

Lord Andrew shook his head and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. Chloe couldn’t ignore the odd spark that surged through her at his touch. Of course, it had been years since she’d so much as held hands with a man. It was no surprise she’d had such a reaction.

They walked until they stood at the edge of the dance floor and Lord Andrew turned to gather her in his arms.

“I really must warn you, my lord,” she said nervously. “I’ve only waltzed once or twice in my life. I’m not
—
Ah!”

Before she could say more, Lord Andrew whipped her around and dragged her into the fold of dancers. It took a moment for her brain to tell her feet they’d begun to move, but thankfully Lord Andrew had a firm grip on her waist and spun her around with little effort.

When she finally braved a look at her dance partner, his eyes sparkled with poorly veiled mirth. “I told you I’m not very good at this.”

“You mistake the source of my amusement, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he said, whisking her from the path of oncoming dancers. “You’re not actually that bad. If you would only remove that terrified look from your face, no one would know you weren’t an accomplished
waltzer
.”

“Oh.” Now aware of her furrowed brow, she relaxed her face and allowed a smile to tug at her lips.

And then she tripped over Lord Andrew’s feet.

He laughed. Loudly. “All right, then, perhaps we’ll introduce smiling at our next waltz.”

Though her cheeks burned with embarrassment, she couldn’t help but laugh. Lord Andrew had such a charming personality that even insults sounded like sweet nothings. And for some reason, the mention of their “next waltz” sent a frisson of excitement through her.