Page 17 of For The Love Of A Widow

“Please, Mother, it is Lettie,” she said, narrowing her stare on her plate. “No one has called me Colette in many years.”

“Be that as it may, my friends—all of society, truly—know you as Lady Colette.” When Lettie’s glare snapped to her mother’s, the woman acquiesced. “But, of course, if you prefer Lady Lettie then I will not argue over the matter further.”

“That is kind of you.” Lettie lowered her spoon into her soup, but did not bring a taste to her mouth. “Lord Linwood, it is nice of you to dine with us. I would expect you to have other pressing matters to attend to this evening,” she said dryly.

Daniel had waited for her to mention something along those lines, and he could not blame her for her snide comment. “Actually, there is no other place I have to be this evening. Although, I do appreciate your concern with my daunting schedule,” he replied with an eyebrow raised.

She was quick to quarrel—as if she remained on the battlefield, disregarding his attempt to be her ally, not her foe.

But he’d taken her bait so quickly. He needs must remember she was grieving, and people handled their grief in many different ways. He’d thrown caution to the wind and taken to his rakehell ways after his parents passed away. Who was he to judge her prickly manners?

“I am sure there is a gaming hell or tavern that is missing you…and your funds,” she said, not taking her glare from her soup bowl.

He would not allow her remark to spark his temper. “Actually, I find I have lost interest in gambling and drinking.”

“Is that so?” Her brow rose in question.

“It is.” His utensils scraped against his plate as he cut into his meal.

“Linwood has been working with me, learning to better manage his estate and take his place in parliament,” Percival interjected. “Been very happy to have him, I have.”

Daniel chuckled. “Happy to have him” was an understatement. The elder lord treated him as the son-in-law he had been meant to be, going so far as to show Daniel the ledgers from the duchess’s many estates, which would eventually belong to Lettie.

Lettie stuffed another forkful of food into her mouth and chewed slowly, keeping her eyes downcast.

It brought to mind their final meal as a betrothed couple before she’d announced her plans to marry Hughes and follow him to war—with or without her parents’ approval. Daniel had arrived to escort Lettie to a ball, already deep in his cups with the sweet scent of his ladybird upon his coat. He’d tripped over the threshold of her townhouse and virtually tossed his coat and hat upon the foyer floor when he’d learned she was still dining with her parents.

Daniel had marched right into their dining room and sat across from Lettie.

He’d been a scoundrel. Never an attentive suitor.

He’d been young and still reeling from the loss of his parents.

She’d been the only constant thing in his life, the only person who grounded him. The one person who put up with his deplorable demeanor.

That night, she’d had enough of him and ended their betrothal. And, like the fool he was, he’d agreed to let her go. Actually convinced himself it would serve him best not to be tied down to any woman permanently. Contracts, gossip, and scandal be damned.

She’d already met and thought herself in love with Hughes at that point.

Lettie had looked exactly as she did now.

Sullen and a bit green. Though then, he hadn’t realized she’d been wracked with nerves over breaking their betrothal, knowing it would cast a bad light on them both, as well as their families. He’d already lost his entire family. She was all he had left to lose.

He’d wished for years after that evening that he’d have been clearheaded enough to notice her anxious turmoil. He could have put her mind at ease without bringing around her abrupt confession of love—for another man.

“Lady Lettie,” Daniel said, watching her closely. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She stood so quickly, the servant behind her was unable to pull her chair back to allow her departure. The tiny bauble she’d pinned in her hair skidded across the floor. The high-backed chair tilted so far back, Daniel thought it in jeopardy for falling completely over and knocking clear through the wall.

“Lettie, do stop with the hysterics!” the duchess screeched.

Daniel also stood, pushing his chair back with less force to follow as Lettie fled the room.

“I will tell you, Barclay, that girl is not fit to take over the Duchy,” her mother whined. “Whatever are we to do?”

“She will adjust,” Daniel called over his shoulder before departing the dining hall after Lettie; though her parents were not making anything easier for her.

“Six months, my dear,” Percival answered. “We shall give her half a year. Then I will step in and set her straight. The chit must select a proper husband or take her place among the aging widows.”