Page 20 of What a Widow Wants

“But the man’s been dead over a year now.” Wrinkling his brow, Matthew steered them through the doorway and down a busy corridor thronged with chattering guests.

Fanny shrugged. “Not everyone was as unaffected as I at the death of their husband. Theirs was quite a love match, I understand, and remained that way until the day he died. She has told me she absolutely adored him from the moment she set eyes on the man. I don’t believe she’s ready to let that go. She may never be.”

“But she has children, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, a boy and a girl. About my daughter’s age.”

“Then the boy especially needs a man’s influence. Kinellan would be a good one.”

Fanny sent him a cool look through slitted eyelids. “Then I suppose it is as well that I have only a daughter.”

He grinned, unperturbed. “And daughters need a father to champion them, spoil them. Love them.”

They had arrived in the bright refreshment room and Fanny’s mouth watered at the prospect of lobster patties. Spying a small table unoccupied by any save an older lady finishing a glass of ratafia, Fanny nodded to it. “Shall we sit here?”

“Excellent, my dear. I shall return shortly.” Matthew carried himself off to the sideboard and was soon busily filling their plates.

Fanny settled herself and smiled at the lady who had finally set her glass down. “Good evening, Lady Hermione. I did not realize you were in Brighton. I have been here these three weeks and have not met you a’tall.”

“Good evening, Lady Stephen Tarkington, is it not?” The older woman’s head trembled, making the plume on her bejeweled headpiece flutter. “I had heard you were in Town from Lady Marchant, but sad to say I get out rarely these days. I am here now only because it is Sarah’s entertainment. She’s my cousin, though more like a sister to me. No more gadding for me. There’s a pity. I come to Brighton in the summer for the waters.”

“To drink them, my lady?”

The older woman drew herself up in her chair. “Indeed not. To be dipped in them, of course.”

The image of Lady Hermione Rochester, clad in bathing dress or, even worse, au naturel, being dipped in the ocean behind a bathing machine struck an unnerving chord in Fanny. Unsure whether the image amused or horrified her, Fanny gave a lukewarm smile and prayed for Matthew to return before Lady Hermione could elaborate further.

“Have you availed yourself of the seawater, my dear? Most refreshing. It is an experience you will not forget.” The woman’s small dark eyes seemed to stare straight into Fanny’s soul, as if searching for some confession.

Could the woman know something about her meeting with Matthew in the bathing machine? No, that must simply be her guilty conscience. Casting her gaze down, Fanny suddenly worried with the way her shawl covered her shoulders. “I . . . um, well, I did go out once.”

“Pah.” Lady Hermione pursed her lips. “You’d best go every day, if you value your health. Do not allow the coldness of the water to deter you. If you steel yourself . . .”

Desperate, Fanny looked toward the serving table. What was taking Matthew so long? She caught his gaze and smiled in relief as he turned toward her, a full plate in each hand.

“Ah, but I see where your attention lies. Very good, my dear.” The sudden approving gleam in Lady Hermione’s eyes took Fanny aback. “Lord Lathbury is a very eligible parti. You will do him credit and he you. Such a handsome couple you make.”

“I . . . um . . .” Fanny desperately hoped she was not blushing. “Lord Lathbury and I are old friends, my lady. We have been reacquainting ourselves after many years apart.” Why didn’t the wretch come and sit down? A glance toward him and she could have screamed in frustration. Matthew had stopped to speak to Lord Daughtry.

“I wouldn’t wait too long to bring him up to scratch, my dear.” Lady Hermione shook her head and rumbled to her feet. “Men don’t like to wait. If you dangle them along overlong they will lose interest and stray. Mark my words: strike while the iron is hot!” The elderly woman stabbed her finger in the air with that pronouncement. Then she leaned toward Fanny. “Be good for you to get out of Theale’s house too. The man’s heading into his dotage according to my granddaughter.”

“Your granddaughter knows the marquess?” That was a bag of moonshine.

“She’s married to his heir.” Lady Hermione sniffed and peered down at Fanny, a look of sour lemons about her mouth.

Taken aback, Fanny’s hand went to her throat. “You are Lady Craighaven’s grandmother?”

“Why would that surprise you? She must have at least two grandmothers. I happen to be one. So mark my words, young lady.” With a final sharp nod of her aigrette feather, she ambled off toward the card room. God help whoever the Fates decreed to be her partner.

“I remembered that you particularly liked the lobster patties, so I made sure to give you several,” Matthew said, placing a plate and utensils before her.

“What took you so long?” she hissed, feeling her face with her hands. As she suspected, her cheeks were hot as a flame.

Matthew peered at her, a concerned look on his face as he deposited his own plate on the table. “What is wrong? Has something happened?”

“Lady Hermione just interrogated me as though she were a Bow Street Runner.” Relaxing her shoulders, Fanny picked up her fork, determined to enjoy the patties, which were indeed a favorite of hers.

“Did she?” Matthew chuckled, the wretch. “What about?”