Page 45 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

She’d already decided that if Georgie agreed, she’d have her fitted out completely for that hunting party and the Christmas season when they went to Town. Shopping would make the trip even more enjoyable.

Georgina sat in stunned silence, her hands working in her lap. “Charlotte, that is too generous an offer.” Her bright eyes said she longed to take it, yet something, perhaps pride, held her back. “I would need to write to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, to make sure I am not needed at home.” A hint of blush on her cheeks told Charlotte she knew how little she was needed—or wanted—in her sister-in-law’s house.

Thinking only of the greater good for her friend, Charlotte made the final argument, one Georgie could not refuse. “You would also be in close proximity to Lord Wrotham, Georgina.” Charlotte spoke his name without a qualm, although her stomach clenched painfully. “If some affection has begun to grow between you, surely you would be better able to pursue it here than in London?”

Georgie blushed but nodded. “I am not sure if there is anything to speak of yet.” She peered keenly at Charlotte and said, “I thought some affection had begun to develop between the two of you, Charlotte. Was that not true?”

Charlotte waited, steeled herself, and shrugged. “There may have been some interest early in the weekend, but that has passed. By all means, if you have a tendre for him, we must help foster it. And that is easier accomplished here.” Charlotte smiled at the reluctant widow, in whose face she saw a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this scheme would be the best thing for all concerned. Now she could put this weekend behind her and focus on helping Georgina bring Lord Wrotham up to scratch. The sinking feeling in her stomach said she was making a mistake, but if so, at least it would be her own to make.

Chapter 15

September 16, 1816

Dearest Charlotte,

Thank you so much for your kind letter of condolence. It quite touched my heart. My uncle died peacefully and I talked with him and sat at his bedside until the end. He was most adamant in his hope that I would carry on the title in an acceptable manner and do my duty in every way possible. My reputation was much on his mind, which I can certainly understand. But I reassured him that I would not bring shame to Kersey, but do my utmost to carry on as he would have me do. I hope he believed me.

As a result, the responsibilities of the earldom weigh more heavily upon me than I anticipated. I am spending my early mourning period here, at Kersey Hall, locked away with the account books, trying to make sense of bills of sale and prospective acreage yields on five different estates. Most of my friends would simply not believe the lengths to which I am going for the properties. My head aches with the figures and I long for some feminine companionship.

By happy circumstance, I find I will be in London next week and would ask to call upon you and your cousin at your earliest convenience. Lady John informed me of your intent to meet her there for the beginning of the Little Season. She, Sinclair, and Mrs. Wickley have been much in company with me at Sinclair’s estate, where they have resided for the past month, is not far from Kersey.

As we have some unfinished business to attend to, I look forward to being in your excellent company once more.

I remain, as always, yours to command,

Alan, Lord Kersey

When Charlotte had read this missive for the tenth time, the once-crisp cream-colored stationery, edged in black and crested with the embossed image of a lion couchant, had become creased and bedraggled. She still did not know quite what to make of his words.

She had been surprised to receive a letter at all. Astonished, in fact, as she’d given Mr. Garrett—rather, Lord Kersey now—no encouragement whatsoever, unless one could call a perfunctory letter of condolence encouraging. So she had read the missive with some trepidation the first time and sighed in relief to find it rather straightforward. A new sense of responsibility seemed to have been instilled in the earl, as Jane had predicted. A dutiful letter sent to acknowledge hers.

Until that final sentence.

As we have some unfinished business to attend to, I look forward to being in your excellent company once more.

To what unfinished business did the man refer? There could only be one. That outrageous question he had asked while they danced in August. Shall I come to your room this evening? Why would he still want to pursue a dalliance with her after all this time? His other words echoed eerily in her mind as well. I usually get what I want.

Surprisingly, the more Charlotte thought about the possibility of an affair with Lord Kersey, the more appealing it became to her. She did long for the excitement of male companionship, especially since Jane and Sinclair’s liaison had put the matter right before her face, so to speak. Warm arms and hot kisses, like those in the stairwell at Almack’s, would be much more welcome now she knew very well what she was missing. She had even gone so far as to daydream—scandalous images of her entwined in bed with Lord Kersey had played tantalizingly in her mind ever since she had received his letter. The daydream, however, had the unfortunate habit of changing to one of her entangled with Lord Wrotham instead. Oh, Lord, but she had tried more than once to rid herself of the thought of the man.

She had done her best to put Georgina forward as a replacement candidate, although so far her strategy had met with little success. An invitation for both her and Georgie to dine at a neighboring estate had seemed promising when Lord Wrotham turned up as part of the party. He had, fortunately, not been seated with her, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner, she had latched onto an elderly relative of the hostess, asking all manner of questions about the neighborhood and the harvest, ignoring everyone else.

Georgie had taken the opportunity to engage Wrotham in conversation instead. Several times, Charlotte had caught them laughing out of the corner of her eye. On the carriage ride back to Lyttlefield, she had pounced on her companion, demanding to know everything about the evening and her conversation with Wrotham.

According to a very enthusiastic Georgina, they had touched on her move to Lyttlefield, those awful robbers who still remained uncaught, books they’d read, her brother. . . and Charlotte.

“What did he want to know about me, Georgie?” Charlotte fought against the agonizing leap her heart took at that statement. Drat the man.

They climbed the stairs to the first floor and headed to Georgie’s room.

“Just the usual polite questions. He asked after your health. If you’d been riding out, and whether or not you had an escort.” Georgie chatted gaily as Charlotte helped her off with her stays. They had found they enjoyed assisting with each other’s toilettes since Georgie had come to stay at Lyttlefield.

“The gall of the man.” Charlotte jerked the laces.

“I’m sure he’s just concerned for your welfare. Ouch! I want them off, Charlotte. You’re tightening them.”

“I’m so sorry. Here.” She unthreaded the laces, and the stays loosened. “That should be better.” She took the stays and shift and handed Georgie a nightgown.

Slowly, she folded the garments, lost in thought. Lord Wrotham still asked after her. The notion filled her with both longing and resolve. She laid the clothing on the dresser for the maid to attend to the next day. She’d hired a local woman, Martha Grant, to see to Georgie.