Page 17 of Wedding the Widow

“I suppose so.” Fanny finished her cup and leaned forward, a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Now, shall we return to Wilding’s and purchase that delectable gold cloth and lace? You will need to look ravishing if you want Lord Brack to ravish you.”

“Fanny.” Elizabeth smiled ruefully and shook her head. Her friend acted like a dog with a bone, and was not going to let it go under any circumstances. “We will see when the time comes. However, I believe you are correct about the gold gown. It will be perfect for Charlotte’s wedding, whoever sees me in it.”

They rose, and Fanny shook out the umbrella and stepped out into the now misting rain. “I think three yards will be quite enough if you—”

“Fanny! Dear God. Turn around.” Elizabeth dragged her friend to stand in front of her, facing her, shielding her from the few people hurrying their way down the sidewalk.

“Elizabeth, what is wrong?” Twisting her head to and fro, Fanny gazed about.

“Lord Brack!” Elizabeth nodded violently to her left, behind Fanny, where a tall gentleman, who could be taken for no one else but Lord Brack, had stopped to speak to an acquaintance. If only he hadn’t seen her yet.

“Where?” Fanny turned all the way around. “Aha. I told you he would seek you out.”

“Oh, do hush, Fanny. I cannot meet him.”

“Why ever not?” Fanny peered at her suspiciously. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, but there’s no time for it now.” Elizabeth cast her gaze up and down the crowded street, searching for their carriage. Panic such as she had never known choked her throat. “I am going to run for the carriage. If he sees me and tries to pursue, please, I beg of you, detain him. I simply cannot speak with him.”

“Very well.” With a piercing look at her, Fanny nodded. “But I shall call tomorrow, and you will tell me everything.”

Sighing deeply, Elizabeth nodded. “I promise. I shall send the carriage back for you directly I am home.”

“I will return to Wilding & Kent; send Markson there.” Her friend gave her a shove. “Now hurry. He just glanced our way.”

Without a thought for the rain, Elizabeth darted down the street, dodging her way between pedestrians, praying her ankle wouldn’t turn in the slippery mud that had washed up onto the pavement in patches. Why had Lord Brack turned up in pursuit of her against her wishes? And how was she going to avoid him?

Elizabeth spied the carriage in the next street and quickly clambered in as soon as the footman opened the door.

“Home and quickly, Markson. Lady Stephen has remained to finish her shopping. You must take me home, then return for her.” Breathless, Elizabeth fell back against the familiar seats of the family landau.

“Are you ill, Mrs. Easton?” Markson peered down at her through the trap.

“A sudden megrim only. I will be fine once I’m at home.” And out of sight of Lord Brack. Oh, pray he had not seen her. Though she assumed he knew quite well where she lived.

“Very good, madam.” Markson dropped the trap, and immediately they began to move out into the traffic.

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as Markson wound their way homeward through the busy London streets, though her thoughts spun from one subject to the next and back again. Lord Brack had arrived in London. Sooner or later, he would surely appear at a ball or a dinner party or call on her at Worth House. She simply could not see him, not when the moment she looked in his face she’d remember last Saturday night. No. She’d simply plead illness and refuse all invitations. Eventually, he’d understand she’d meant every word of her letter.

That decision made, her traitorous mind spun back, and her friend’s words in the tearoom buzzed in her brain, like a swarm of busy bees. People had noticed her and Lord Brack’s mutual attraction. Such a match would be perfectly acceptable to the ton, even though they were rather close in age.

She shifted uncomfortably on the black leather seat, crossing her ankles, wanting to cross her legs. Their slight gap in age might have had something to do with the intensity of the passion they had shared in bed the other night. Why would her thoughts bend that way? More chilling to ask, had she ever experienced that deep a connection with Dickon? A disloyal question, perhaps, but her core throbbed even now at the memory of Lord Brack filling her so intently over and over.

The mere thought almost set her body on fire, and she leaned one cheek against the cool glass to try and calm herself. Lord, how could she have such wanton thoughts about a man to whom she was not married? In the middle of the day and in public? Did these wild fancies mean she wished to marry him?

While she tried to wrap her mind around the absurdity of that last question, Markson stopped the carriage and opened the door. The cold air helped with her blazing cheeks as she climbed down, although images of Lord Brack’s smiling face at dinner, at the Bull, and most of all, in her bed whirled around her head in a dizzying array. His kindness to his sister and her obvious adoration of him spoke candidly about his nature. No one since Dickon had ever been so attentive toward her in all ways. He was simply the perfect gentleman, if not for that one moment between them.

“Thank you, Markson. If you would return for Lady Stephen, please?” A shame she’d had to abandon Fanny, but it could not have been helped. Fanny would undoubtedly get her revenge when next they met.

“Yes, Mrs. Easton.” The coachman touched the horses, and they trotted away once more.

Entering Worth House, she handed her pelisse to the butler. “Where is Mama, Tawes?” She stripped off her gloves and handed them to him as well.

“In the small drawing room, Mrs. Easton.”

Elizabeth nodded as she started up the stairs to the first floor. A cup of tea would refresh and calm her jangled nerves.

“Mama, Mama!” Shrieks from the landing overhead rent the quiet air. The twins raced pell-mell down the staircase, hurtling toward her.