“I know.” Aunt Jane turned to the mullioned window and tightened the shawl around her shoulders as she gazed at the storm raging outside. The rain had joined forces with the wind, making it more powerful. Together they assailed the windowpane, shaking and rattling it with the anger of a jealous god.
Kate flinched. Her aunt was right. The world, which had seemed so bright and full of hope a few weeks earlier, now seemed cold and frightening. But how could she give up her innocent babe to strangers? How could she dishonor Theo’s memory by abandoning his child? She could not—would not. She’d die first.
“We must find you a husband before it’s too late,” Aunt Jane’s voice cut into Kate’s thoughts.
She turned slowly from the windowpane to face her aunt, wondering if she’d imagined the words. “Whatever do you mean by that? Who would marry me in my condition?”
“It’s early yet, and you will likely not show for the next month or two. If we find you a suitable match and you marry within that time frame, he will believe the babe is his.” Kate blinked. Her aunt sat upright, her back straight and her face determined. It was as though she’d transformed into an entirely different being.
“You will tell Papa to arrange a marriage for me under false pretenses?” Kate could hardly believe such a thing was possible. “He will never agree.”
“Not your papa.” Aunt Jane formed a steeple with her hands as she often did when deep in thought. “There’s only one person capable of arranging such a marriage.”
“Who?” Kate stared at her aunt.
“The Black Widow of Whitehall.” Aunt Jane rose from her seat.
“The what?” Kate gazed in bewilderment at her aunt, wondering if she’d gone mad.
“Instruct your maid to ready your bags. We leave for London tomorrow morning.”
“But what will you tell Papa?” Kate stood.
“Oh, do stop worrying about your papa so much. He is a selfish man and tired of your tears, so he won’t object to my taking you to London for a few weeks as long as I promise it will cure you of your melancholy. And before he has a chance to complain that we’ve been gone too long, you’ll be married and free of him forever.”
Kate creased her forehead. “But I don’t understand—”
“Bags, Kate,” her aunt said firmly. “And remember, you are not to mention anything about the Black Widow of Whitehall to your papa.”
Kate nodded in bewilderment as her aunt, seemingly energized by her bizarre plan, hurried out of the room.
Who on Earth is the Black Widow of Whitehall?The name sounded rather frightening and sent shivers down Kate’s spine.Still, if Aunt Jane believes so strongly in this widow, then she must be a miracle maker. At least, she’d better be one because only a miracle can help me now.
Chapter Two
One week later
Cleveland Street, London
Bessie Dove-Lyon contemplatedthe young woman sitting before her. She had a coltish look about her—tall and slender with large dark eyes sheltered beneath thick, long lashes, an upturned nose, and a mane of lush chestnut curls. Under normal circumstances, finding her a husband would be challenging—she was five-and-twenty with only a modest dowry—but given her current predicament, it might be near impossible. Well, nothing was impossible—not for Bessie Dove-Lyon, the Black Widow of Whitehall.
She’d arranged hundreds of successful marriages and would no doubt arrange hundreds more. But, with this one, she’d have to tread carefully. Deceiving a man into marrying a woman already with child was a tricky business. Most of Harley Street frequented her establishment, and there were doctors who could be relied upon for their silence. Still, she preferred not to go that route. A better solution was to find a man who would accept a woman already with child. Such a delicate situation required the right kind of man. Ideally, someone who loved withoutconditions. Someone who’d be a devoted family man, no matter the circumstances. Someone who had loved and lost, who lived with the pain and silence, and who thought he could never find happiness again. Someone like…the answer provided itself in a flash: Lord Oliver Knox.
She’d been observing the Earl of Knox closely for over a month. He came into the club every night, rain or shine. And Bessie suspected that he did so to stave off his loneliness. He had been a devoted husband to his late wife—that was common knowledge—and he’d been devastated by her sudden death, shutting himself away for two years before he started frequenting the Lyon’s Den.
He enjoyed the card games and fine brandy but never indulged in the women upstairs. So she suspected his devotion and loyalty to his dead wife remained as strong as it had been during her lifetime. He came to her establishment to ease the painful silence that had become his world. Yes, she’d come across men like him before. And she knew the cure. He needed a new wife—and not just any wife—someone compassionate and loyal as she suspected Kate was, after hearing her story and spending some time in conversation with her. She was the type who could fill his heart and home with joy again—and what could bring a lonely earl more joy than a son and heir?
“I realize the situation is problematic,” the young lady’s aunt, Mrs. Jane Seton, said, “but time is of the essence. If something cannot be arranged within a few weeks, I’m afraid it will be too late.”
“Indeed,” Bessie mused. “You have presented me with a most challenging task. Fortunately for you, I enjoy a well-paid challenge.”
“That will not be a problem.” Mrs. Seton opened her reticule and extracted two banknotes. “My late husband left me a generous sum when he died, and I have no children of my own,so I can see no better use for this money than securing a future for my departed sister’s only child.”
“Oh, Aunt!” Kate exclaimed. “I couldn’t let you—”
“Hush!” Mrs. Seaton rested a hand on Kate’s arm. “I’m doing this for my sister and for the good of the family—it will save your sisters much heartache and preserve their reputations. But most of all, I am doing this for you and your babe. I know what it is to lose a child, and I won’t let that happen to you.”
“And it so happens,” Bessie interrupted, wanting to return to the business at hand, “that I have a suitable candidate in mind.”
