Page 14 of For The Love Of A Widow

“Yes, many thanks, Linwood, for retrieving my daughter.” Her father nodded in dismissal.

Next, Daniel turned to her, his eyes searching hers. Lettie suspected if she begged him to stay, he would; however, her parents had already asked much of him. “Thank you for seeing me safely…home, your grace.” The word stuck in her throat. This did not feel like home. The bedroll she’d shared with Gregory held more warmth than her parents’ townhouse.

“Lady Colette.” Daniel set her sack down on the polished floor beside her and took her hand. “Do send word if you are in need of anything.”

He placed a quick kiss on the back of her bare hand, released her, and turned to depart.

Mercifully, the front door shut behind him before he could glance over his shoulder to see the flush that’d spread to her cheeks as she watched him go. Over the years, Lettie had given up on wearing gloves or so much as keeping a suitable pair within her meager wardrobe. There was little hope she’d be able to hide it from her parents.

“My dear Lettie.” The duchess closed the gap between them and wrapped her only child in a tight embrace, though the stiffness of her arms and the tension in her back did not go unnoticed by Lettie. The earl and his wife had never been overly affectionate with her, or one another. “We are pleased to have you home. Though it is very unfortunate Gregory is lost to us.”

“He is not lost, mother,” Lettie mumbled into her mother’s hair. “I laid him to rest in a meadow not far from camp. I could not afford the coin to have his body brought across the Channel.”

“Ah, well,” Lord Percival’s ever-rational tone cut in. “It was likely for the best. I can only imagine the stench.”

When she gasped, her mother removed her arms and hopped back in alarm as her father’s face blanched, realizing the horrid implication of his words.

“My apologies, Colette.” He stepped forward and gave her a quick hug. His embrace was not as awkward at the duchess’s, but still little better than hugging a stranger. “And my condolences on Gregory’s passing.”

“Thank you, Father.” Lettie hefted her sack to her shoulder.

“Allow Darling to take your things, my dear.” The duchess had no more said the words than their butler was at Lettie’s elbow to take her possessions. At her hesitation, the duchess continued, “He will make sure they are placed in your room.”

Lettie allowed her grip on the strap to loosen and handed the bag to the servant. “Thank you, Darling.”

“It is lovely to have you back, Lady Lettie,” he responded with a beaming smile. “The servants are bursting at the seams to greet you.”

“That will wait until she is properly bathed, fed, and gowned,” her mother scolded.

Lettie noted her mother’s list did not include rest. Sleep was what Lettie needed most. She only hoped her bed offered the comfort the rest of her homecoming lacked.

“Tell the servants I am greatly looking forward to seeing them all.” Lettie couldn’t help but return Darling’s smile. “Let Cook know I have gained an entirely new appreciation for her skills in the kitchen after so many years cooking every meal in a single pot.”

“Of course, my lady.” Though the man’s voice was cheerful, his eyes gave her a compassionate glance before he hurried upstairs with her sack.

The duchess slipped her arm through her daughter’s and steered her toward the receiving room. Lettie didn’t react at the way her mother’s nose wrinkled when she moved close.

Lettie almost laughed, knowing her mother wanted nothing more than to flee from her daughter’s side and seek her own bath to wash away any stench that may have transferred from Lettie’s unwashed body to her own. Instead, Julianna Downing, always the poised duchess, lifted her chin and escorted her daughter into her finely adorned room, her father trailing several paces behind them, as if not willing to risk having the smell embedded in his own attire.

“Come, please sit,” her mother chimed in her ever-present polite manner. She’d been raised to serve as the Duchess of Essex—much as Lettie had been groomed to do the same—and her manners never faltered. “I see Eldora has already delivered tea for us. Sit, sit, sit. We have much to speak of.”

When her mother waved her to the chaise across from her own favored seat, Lettie respectfully sank to sit, crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them below her. It was very rare, indeed, that Lettie had been afforded a proper chair; however, her upbringing and decorum were still ingrained in her every move.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you,” Lettie said as her mother prepared three cups of tea. Her father preferring more cream to actual tea, while her mother took hers without accoutrement. Lettie’s was a perfect blending of the two: tea with a small helping of cream.

“My heavens,” her mother sighed, handing Lettie her steaming cup. “Where else would you go?”

She’d pondered the same question as she’d sailed across the Channel before dispelling any notion of reaching out to Gregory’s family for shelter. Her husband had been the third son of a viscount and only afforded what his family saw fit to give him or what he’d earned as a soldier—which nearly hadn’t been enough to see Lettie home. Her parents were her only option unless she decided to find work as a governess or seamstress until she inherited her mother’s Duchy.

And it seemed her parents knew that fact as well as she.

“Lord knows Gregory left you with very little.” Her mother’s exaggerated eye roll was enough to tell Lettie they may have forgiven her for marrying beneath her, but they had not pardoned Gregory for capturing her heart and leaving her a penniless, homeless widow. “And that family of his…they do not deserve you.”

A pang of remorse shot through her—Lettie had never properly introduced her parents to Gregory’s family. Truthfully, after the wedding, she and Gregory hadn’t remained in town long enough for Lettie to know them either.

Lord and Lady Stanhope were not unkind people. They had provided for her and Gregory for the few days after they were wed and before they departed to join the soldiers in the Peninsular War. In fact, they’d more than happily assisted Gregory with gaining his commission, though if they’d written after she and Gregory left England, her husband had never shared their letters with her.

“Now, Julianna, do not speak ill of poor Gregory’s parents,” the earl chimed in, though his flat tone indicated his lack of conviction in his own mutterings. “What your mother meant to say, dear, is that we are happy you are home—where you belong—and we know society will welcome you back with open arms. Linwood already has, I dare say.”