Always the Widow, page 2
But the gentleman she wished to see was not about. Elizabeth’s heart twisted with pain to even think of him. He had not been at the church, and she had not seen him here.
Jacob Beauvale, Lord Westray, had not been invited.
Not that she should be thinking about him at all. Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed as her memories of Jacob—Lord Westray, she corrected herself silently—poured into her mind.
Jacob, laughing on the sofa. Taking her hand. Leading her to…
A smile had crept over her face, but she forced herself to look serious. It would not do for a widow to appear happy in public! Not after losing her husband so recently, a man who society deemed as respectable.
Another half an hour standing at the side of the room during which all her previous acquaintances, few as they were, ignored her, and that was it. Elizabeth was ready to return to her home in the center of Bath. It was only twenty minutes away by carriage, and then she could hide from the world once more.
She had forgotten the vastness of the cloakroom at Lenskeyn House, and she had to force her way through two racks of greatcoats and pelisses before she found her dark blue coat.
It was as she pulled it from the hanger that she heard her name.
“—that Elizabeth Howard brings shame upon the whole family,” came Lady Romeril’s voice. “I mean, really! Turning up at a wedding in her widow’s gown and her husband only in the earth this last month. ’Tis almost criminal.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It was impossible for a widow to do anything right! If she had not attended the wedding, Lady Romeril would indeed have considered it a slight to the head of her house.
“I do not wish to attend another wedding until it is yours,” Lady Romeril’s voice continued.
There was a laugh—a young woman’s, from what Elizabeth could make out.
“You jest, Lady Romeril! I am being courted by no one, and I tell you I have no wish to be! Please, share your good wishes with the Lymington girl. She is desperate, I can tell you.”
“Sophia Worsley, you are not getting any younger, and if you are not careful, the next Season’s debutantes will leave you behind,” came Lady Romeril’s severe tones. “You absolutely must get married.”
It was impossible for Elizabeth not to smile. Society really had not changed, had it? Just less than six years ago, she was hearing the same excuses to push her into marriage, although from a different source. Now, this Miss Worsley, whoever she was, was experiencing the same.
“I do not see why I should,” Miss Worsley’s voice was strong and certain, and Elizabeth silently cheered her on. “Why should I? My life is most agreeable as it is, and I see no reason to change it.”
“Not—not marry?”
“I have all the money and connections I need,” she said airily. “That is why most ladies marry, is it not? But I am quite content as I am.”
There was a hearty sniff, and Elizabeth thought silently that her mother-in-law could learn about sniffing from the universally feared Lady Romeril. She should not be listening to this private conversation—but it was too late now to emerge from the rows of greatcoats. They would know she had been listening from the beginning.
“Do you not wish to have a family?”
There was a moment of silence, and then Miss Worsley’s said, “It matters not to me whether I marry or not.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on her stomach and smiled. All she had wanted from a young age was a family. It had been one of the reasons she had married without really thinking about her groom.
And only now would she have it. At last, after waiting for five long years, she had finally fallen with a child.
Although, of course, not precisely as she could have expected…
“Nonsense,” came Lady Romeril’s powerful voice. “I have just the chap in mind, a gentleman who will suit you to the ground. He is not looking for love, merely a marriage that is convenient and one in which companionship can grow. You never know, you may like him. You may even fall in love with him.”
There was a heavy sigh. “I can never say no to you, Lady Romeril. I will meet him. Who is he?”
Elizabeth could not help but feel sorry for this Miss Worsley, whoever she was. It was all very well for the matriarchs of society to push their unwanted sons and nephews onto unsuspecting ladies, but really. What fool did Lady Romeril have in mind?
“His name is Beauvale,” said the voice of Lady Romeril. “Jacob Beauvale—you might know him as Lord Westray.”
Elizabeth almost dropped her pelisse. “No,” she whispered. “Anyone but him.”
Chapter Two
Three months earlier…
Autumn had been threatening to arrive for weeks, but as Jacob Beauvale, Lord Westray, strode through the streets of Bath, there was no hint of it in the air. There was warmth in the sun, the leaves were green, and he was furious.
Not that his temper could be blamed on the weather. It was the damned Howard—Elmore, was that his name?
Damned foolish name, Jacob thought bitterly as he turned a corner. He should never have trusted a man with such a wishy-washy name. And the blaggard had promised most faithfully, too, that the debt would be paid before the end of the week.
That had been a fortnight ago.
Jacob was not usually a forceful man. If anything, he knew his friends would describe him as an easy-going chap. That was why, when Elmore had looked around the card table sheepishly and pulled out only enough coin to pay back two of the men who had beaten him, both Jacob and Braedon had agreed to be paid by the end of the week.
It had been a shameful debacle in any case. If Jacob had known the man had only carried a few guineas with him, he would never have invited Howard to the table in the first place.
Irritation poured through his veins as the club appeared at the end of the street. Jacob had believed the man. Who wouldn’t? When one was the son of a lord, as they both were, one did not simply assume the man was a damned liar.
It was impossible to be in Bath without gossip spreading, however, and from the very next morning, all Jacob heard were tales of this Elmore’s disgraceful behavior. Women, cards, gambling—even a duel, from what Mercia told him.
Jacob pulled open the door to the club faster than the footman could reach it. The cad Howard had been avoiding him ever since that foolish card game, and he wasn’t going to have it any longer.
It wasn’t like him to allow things like this to fester in his mind. Jacob usually looked on the bright side of life, taking each day with a smile.
Not today.
“Where is Mr. Howard?” he snapped at the man on the desk and immediately felt embarrassed. This was not him. He would not allow the man’s damned cheek to change him. “I beg your pardon. I meant—”
“Elmore Howard is not here,” said the man delicately.
Jacob could not help it. His face fell. “And nothing…no message or, or items have been left at the desk for me?”
He caught the man’s gaze, and understanding passed between them. Gentlemen did not need to spell things out when it came to debts of honor.
But the man was shaking his head. “Sadly, he did not think that far ahead when last he left us. I am sorry, Lord Westray.”
The irritation which Jacob had been fighting to keep low in his chest rose like a roaring lion. It was not a significant amount of money that Elmore owed him—well, to others, it may have been. Fifty pounds was not an amount everyone could quickly lay hands on.
No, it was the principle of the thing. If one couldn’t afford to lose at cards, one should not play!
It was most infuriating and was threatening to ruin a very sunny day. Jacob swallowed down the riotous retort that appeared on his tongue.
“If you would like, my lord,” said the desk clerk in that same delicate voice, “I can add your name to the list of people currently seeking Mr. Howard to…to repay a few debts. It is starting to become quite extensive.”
As though to illustrate his point, the man brought a roll of paper out from a drawer. It was at least fourteen inches long and had a number of reputable names that even Jacob could recognize, despite being upside down.
It was this that pushed Jacob over the edge. How could he not be furious? The blaggard gave all gentlemen a bad reputation by being unable to keep to his word, and it was disgraceful that his club had started to pull together such a list.
The rotter. The devil! How could the man walk about town like he was king of the world? Jacob had seen him strut along with the very best of tailoring and usually a pretty woman on his arm—not his wife, an acquaintance had once pointed out darkly—when he seemed to owe everyone in the world money?
“Yes, add my damn name to your list,” he snapped and immediately regretted his tone. “My apologies again—Brown, isn’t it?”
The desk clerk nodded gratefully.
“Brown, I am aware this is naught to do with you, and you should not bear the brunt of my irritation,” Jacob said heavily. Always make amends; that is what his guardian had taught him. “I can see you understand the source of my frustration. And the man hasn’t been seen for a while, I can see by that list?”
Brown nodded. “In fact, the York Club is number seven on the list, my lord,” he said in a low voice.
Jacob threw up his hands. “Well, you are just as eager to find him as I am. Thank you, Brown. That will be all.”
Doing his best not to storm out of the club in a temper, Jacob took a deep breath. It was not Brown’s fault, and it was certainly not his fault. No, this all came down to the foolish antics of a man who thought he was beyond reason.
Elmore Howard.
He thrust out his hand and soon hailed a hackney, whose driver slowed his horses gently and grinned.
“Where to, y’honor?”
“Mr. Elmore Howard’s residence,” said Jacob curtly. “You know where it is, so no prevarication, please.”
Before he was able to clamber into the carriage, the driver frowned. “The Earl of Lenskeyn’s place, sir?”
Jacob hesitated, one hand on the handle. That was the older brother, wasn’t it—the Earl of Lenskeyn? Was he back in town? He had heard of him, who hadn’t, but the man seemed to live on the Continent permanently. He hadn’t been back here in…well, Jacob could never remember meeting him.
His curiosity would have to wait. He had fifty pounds to claim.
“No, the younger,” he clarified. “Elmore Howard, as quick as you like.”
The carriage rattled down the cobbled streets as Jacob leaned back in the swaying carriage.
This was impulsive, even for him. He was interested in having fun, and this damned Howard had interfered with that.
He was a rotten egg, and everyone knew it. Well, every gentleman seemed to, Jacob grinned. The ladies were easily swayed by his handsome features and good temper.
But when one listened to the gossip from the gentlemen of Bath, it painted a picture of a man utterly unable to control himself and his pleasures.
Jacob shook his head. He would knock on the door, get his fifty pounds, and that would be the last he would see of the man.
“Here we are, y’honor,” came the voice of the driver as the hackney carriage came to a stop outside an impressive townhouse.
Jacob opened the carriage door and closed it behind him, looking up at the huge house. Well, perhaps Elmore couldn’t pay his debts. This pile of bricks would take some upkeep.
“Do you want me to wait, sir?”
He glanced at the driver, who looked hopeful. “No, sorry, my man. I will probably wish to walk off my anger after seeing this brute and giving him what for. Here.”
Tossing a shilling at the man, more than double what the short ride cost, Jacob stepped forward and hammered on the front door.
“Thankee, sir,” came the pleased words of the driver before he clicked his horses onward.
The street fell silent as the sound of the carriage disappeared. No one opened the door.
“Howard!” he shouted as he banged on the door once more. “Come out!”
The very idea that one could go about in life, expecting there to be no consequences to one’s actions! It was infuriating.
Jacob was aware that being a lord gave him certain privileges, and he was careful to rarely use them. But this—this brigand!
“Come out, Elmore, I know you are in there!” he shouted, his words accompanied by a loud banging on the door. “Finally!”
His last word was muttered bitterly as the door handle started to turn, but Jacob was forced to take a step back in surprise as the door opened.
Instead of Elmore or perhaps a butler or maidservant, a woman stood in the door. A lady, he mentally corrected himself silently. There was no chance she could ever be mistaken for a servant.
Blonde, almost golden hair was elegantly pinned above a face that was beautiful yet sad. Dressed in fashion’s finest, the disappointment on her face dampened her beauty.
“You were inquiring after my husband, I believe?”
Jacob swallowed. The more he looked, the more evident it was that Elmore’s wife was one of the most beautiful women in Bath.
Every inch of her seemed designed to tempt a man. Those lips, invitingly pink, the slope of her neck, leading to breasts that…
He coughed, forcing his mind away from the delectable woman before him. He had heard of Mrs. Howard; every gentleman in town had. Few had ever seen her.
The rumor was that she rarely left home, and Jacob remembered the words that had at first hinted to him Elmore was not the sort of man to associate with.
“My wife? Better in bed than any of your little wives,” Elmore had sneered. “But don’t worry, I keep her on a tight leash. None of you will be discovering just how pretty my barren bride is.”
“Well? Are you?”
Jacob uttered a strangled stream of nonsense and coughed to cover his embarrassment. He was hardly a whippersnapper, just leaving his nurse’s side to enter into society! He needed to get a hold of himself.
A beautiful woman was still a woman—still a person—and he could have a rational conversation with her. Probably.
“Yes,” he managed. “Yes, Elmore. Is he here?”
As she shook her head, the sunlight caught her diamond earbobs, but instead of sparkling, they just shone. “But you are welcome to come in, Mr…?”
Jacob stared. The world stood still. Was this what being struck by lightning felt like?
“Your name, sir?”
“Name?” Jacob blinked and then remembered himself. “Name! Jacob Beauvale, Lord Westray. Apologies, I was distracted by…and, and you are Mrs. Howard?”
She smiled and, without saying another word, turned and disappeared into the house.
Jacob hesitated. He was not one to believe in myths and legends, but if there was a woman in the world who fit the description of ‘siren,’ he had just encountered her.
There was a woman who could make him do terrible things. If she told him to rob the regent himself of all his jewels, he couldn’t be entirely sure he would disobey her.
A strange feeling was filling his lungs that if he went into this house, innocuous as it looked, his whole life would change.
Jacob stepped across the threshold and found himself in a hallway with three doors leading from it. He could hear movement from one and poked his head around the corner.
“I say,” he said, pouring the Beauvale charm into his words to hide his nerves. “’Tis most good of you to see me.”
She was seated in a little armchair by the fireplace in the drawing room, and looked confused at his words. “I beg your pardon?”
Gaining confidence, Jacob stepped into the room. “I mean, it’s just…well, so few people ever see you. The elusive Mrs. Howard!”
He laughed, but it sounded false and echoing in the empty room. She did not laugh with him, and the wan smile had disappeared.
“Elmore—my husband likes me to stay at home,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t like me to meet other people. Do sit down.”
A prickle of concern crept around Jacob’s heart as he seated himself opposite her. He knew plenty of husbands who were proud of their wives and jealous of their company—but never before had he encountered a gentleman who restricted their wife’s movements.
Elmore. That cad, that brute! The thought of him reminded Jacob why he had come here in the first place.
“If you are hiding him here,” he said abruptly, “your husband, I mean, I beg you will reveal him to me.”
It was a rather strange speech, but Lady Howard did not seem surprised in the slightest. On the contrary, she sighed heavily.
“Gambling debts again?”
Jacob nodded mutely. It appeared that there were no secrets between this married couple. Even the darkest had been brought to light.
Marriage was just as much a mystery to Jacob as the pyramids of Egypt. Others entered into it, and by all accounts seemed to have a wonderful time, but Jacob had managed to get to the age of five and twenty without being tempted toward it.
Parts of him were stirring right at this moment, sparked by the mere presence of Mrs. Howard. My God, but she was beautiful. Elegant, too, aware of her beauty but not depending on it to get through life. “Gambling debts, again,” she repeated, this time no longer a question. Her voice was heavy, and her shoulders slumped before she rose and walked over to a painting—a Gainsborough, if Jacob was any judge.
“My word!” he said as she swung the painting forward to reveal a safe in the wall.
She smiled. Leaning toward the safe to cover her hands, she twisted the lock into the correct combination and opened it.
Jacob said awkwardly, “I apologize for disturbing you—if you will just tell me where to find your husband, I can ask him—”
“You are more likely to be able to tell me where he is,” she interrupted softly.
She pulled a necklace from the safe, long and with several tiers, absolutely cascading in emeralds. The sunlight shone through them, throwing green and gold sparkles around the drawing room.
