Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow

  He clutched the back of his chair. "To think that I might have protected her from the old man's folly, thus creating happiness for us both. To think that I was the only one in the position to do so. I cannot breathe, my heart clutches so painfully within me, when I think of what she endured because I was not a gentleman, merely a lad, and not mature enough to save her myself."

  "Dearest, what could you have done?"

  He shook his head. "Anything. Anything would have been better than to see how much she has faded and been lost. Yet, I did not know—I did not see what was right before me. I believed I was in love—but heartlessly, the only one I truly loved was myself."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  Catherine walked into the grand ballroom of the Earl of Kettering's ball. It was dripping with floral arrangements and aglow with a thousand candles at least. Never had she seen such a sumptuous display of elegance. The crush of people was dressed beautifully for the occasion and added to the elegance all around. Everything was splendidly shining, shimmering, and beautiful.

  She ran her gloved hands over her peach-colored gown and wondered for the tenth time that evening if she was presentable enough. Sophia had found the pattern in the latest fashion plate from Paris, and immediately sent out to have the modiste make it up for Catherine. Its several layers of thin flounces kept to the latest style, while creating a new and fun addition to the ballroom.

  "You look beautiful." Sophia smiled. "Do not fidget so, for I can guarantee no one else is being noticed quite as much as you are."

  She straightened. "I am not overly fidgeting, am I?"

  "Any more, and people will begin to wonder if you are having a conniption."

  Catherine's cheeks turned red as she whipped open her fan. "Of all the things to say to me."

  Sophia giggled and whisked her fan out as well. "My dear, the best part about being family is that I can say practically anything and get away with it."

  "Outrageous!" was the best thing she could come up with. "Goodness, you are in a playful mood tonight."

  "I would hope so!" Sophia looked around and then pulled her husband close to them. "We are attending the most talked-about ball of the season. We have just now been welcomed by the Earl and Countess of Kettering themselves, and are about to mingle with some of the most influential people of all London on the arms of my dashing husband. How could I not be in the most excited of moods?"

  Everything Sophia said, everything that enlivened her dear daughter-in-law, caused Catherine to pause. She had yet to see anything of Lord Hamson in this sad crush, but she had no doubt that he would be there. And she could not decide what would be more nerve-racking—being in his presence and watching him flirt attendance on all the young ladies, or having him take her out onto the dance floor. Which was preposterous fantasy because she had made it very clear to him how she felt about a budding relationship. "Then go and mingle. I will see about procuring some seats for us." At Sophia's direct look, she added, "I have every intention of enjoying myself and dancing, but we both know that without somewhere to sit after each set, we will be exhausted."

  Sophia grinned, satisfied easily enough that Catherine meant to mingle as well. It was then that a larger gentleman, another guest, approached the couple.

  "The new Earl of Huntingdon. Welcome. It is great to see you, young man! And this must be your charming wife . . ."

  Catherine took that opportunity to slip away. The crowd nearest the door was rather suffocating, and she moved farther into the ballroom. It was not until she found the back wall that she was able to breathe again. Finally, a bit of space amongst so many people. At this end, there were only thirty or so individuals clustered about in small groups as they chatted. Following the wall and maneuvering around chairs, she eventually came to one of the many balconies around the right side of the room.

  She did not know if it was the heat of the room, or if agitation had become an old friend again, but suddenly, she wanted to be anywhere than where she was. Had not her late husband always reminisced about the great balls and galas his wife would throw? How no one in London would dare miss something the perfect hostess invited them to. Forgetting all about procuring seats, Catherine took a deep breath and walked into the cool, damp night and away from the remembered criticisms that were close to haunting her once more.

  It had begun to rain. Thankfully, the balcony offered a bit of protection from the drizzle, for she was not sure how much longer she could remain in such a stifling place. As soon as she walked out, she shut the door and hoped no one saw her. There was no reason for such a panic to overwhelm her, but there it was nonetheless. Why did she think about coming to London? Why did she not go straight on to Bath?

  Catherine already knew she was nothing but a mere shadow to the late countess. Why come here to be reminded of such insecurities? Why treat herself to such—good heavens. Her hands began to tremble. What a state she had gotten herself into! Taking a few more deep breaths, she attempted to focus on the happiness around her. She was at a ball, not a medieval hanging. This event had nothing to do with her late husband or his wife. Nothing. She was here because Lord Hamson's family invited her, and nothing more. Was she not supposed to be enjoying herself, wearing a gown and laughing on the arms of exciting new people?

  Then why was she here, all alone, excluding herself from a place that could distract her from her deplorable existence?

  She felt the warmth from the ballroom and heard the buzz of the crowd before she realized that the door had been opened.

  "There you are, out in the rain. I was afraid I would never find you," Lord Hamson said as he approached. "How is the lovely Lady Romney this evening? And her kitten? I must not forget about the cat."

  In a few short words, he had managed to calm her racing mind and make her feel normal once again. She could not help but chuckle as she glanced over. Four years, and he still took her breath away. How did one lord create so much delight within her? "How did you know I was out here?"

  He shrugged and then leaned against the wall of the balcony with one hip, his eyes never leaving hers. "After I did not see you with the new earl, I simply thought of the quietest place in the house, and there you were. You look stunning, my dear. I have missed you."

  "Ha. You cannot miss someone you saw only yesterday."

  His eyes glimmered in the faint moonlight. "Yes, you can."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  Someone must stop this madness before they were both lost to common sense. Catherine released a shaky breath and turned away from his charisma, peering out into the vast dripping garden below. "Forgive me, but you should not be here. I am not what you are looking for."

  "I know perfectly well what I am looking for, dearest, and you cannot convince me otherwise."

  Perhaps it bore repeating again. "I am not her anymore."

  "You have always been her and always will be. There is nothing you can say to alter my mind, so I wish you would not attempt to do so."

  Her heart knew not which way it wished to beat. Slow and steady, fast and erratic, or forgetting to pound altogether. She could not bear to disappoint another husband—she feared it would kill her to do so.

  "I spoke with Miss Hemming and her mother today."

  She could not help it—she looked over at him. "Y—you did? And how did you fare? Am I to wish you happy?" Was that why he came all the way out here—to report on his good fortune?

  One fine eyebrow rose as he grinned, his monstrous dimple playing peekaboo again. "You can most definitely wish me happy."

  All at once, she felt as though she had been kicked by a horse. Pain unlike anything she had experienced before engulfed her, so much so that she almost did not hear his next words.

  "And by happiness, I of course mean, I have managed to disengage myself from that family completely. You do not know the relief I feel at such a thing, though I had no idea how truly awful they were until I came to deliver the bad news. I do understand their tartness, and unfortunately, there wil
l be rumors flying about—no doubt they already are—about what a reprehensible person I am. However, I cannot say I am remorseful, as I told them to spread whatever they needed to in order to save Miss Hemming from embarrassment. Indeed, I am fairly certain that all and sundry are now speaking of how she could not abide my horrid ways, and so tossed me to the curb before I grew much worse." She had never seen his smile so large.

  The roaring in her ears must be playing havoc with her. "I beg your pardon. Are you implying that you are not to wed Miss Hemming, and that instead, you have truly done the unthinkable and walked away from her?"

  He laughed. "Yes. That is precisely what I am saying."

  "How? What did you say to her?"

  "I told Miss Hemming and her mama exactly the truth. That I was still in love with you and planned to pursue my suit with you instead."

  If she did not have the balcony wall propping her up, her legs would have given away right then. "You did not! Oh, George! Why would you say such a thing?"

  "Because, as I said, it is the truth and precisely what I propose to do."

  "But you cannot! I have told you how I feel. Does that not frighten you away?" He was too good, too kind. "I am not a charity case to be assisted. I am not someone to be pitied. My life is full, and I have a wonderful strategy in place. I sincerely cannot abide such anguish as this."

  He glanced toward the door, and then, fetching out a key from his pocket, he locked it.

  "Whatever are you doing?"

  "Reminding you what love is, because, sweetling, you have completely forgotten." With that, he swooped her up in his arms and kissed her until those knees of hers actually buckled.

  Catherine clung to him, his soft lips gently releasing all the silly flutterings of a schoolgirl with them. When he finally pulled away, it was only to bring her carefully into his arms and settle her head upon his chest. It was the tenderest moment she had ever known.

  "Catherine.” His deep voice resonated around her.

  "Hmm?"

  "I love you."

  She started to move away, but he held her fast.

  "I know you have misgivings. They are perfectly natural reservations, after all you have been through." He continued, "However, I will help tug them from you. I vow I will show you what an incredible lady you are, and how any man would be appreciative to have you as his own."

  "You are not as familiar with me as you believe."

  "So you have said," he whispered as he gently began to rock to and fro with her. "I would like to become familiar with you again. To fully understand this incredible lady I am fortunate enough to hold in my arms."

  "What are you saying, George? You are risking your reputation to be seen with me, and now closeting yourself on this balcony—your risky behavior cannot be considered sane."

  "I locked the door so we would not be disturbed by any other guest. And my reputation was already in shreds the moment I strolled out of Miss Hemming's home. Therefore, I am a free man to do as I wish.” He closed his eyes briefly. “And yet, I am foolish not to consider what this is doing to you." He suddenly pulled back. "Forgive me again. I fear I am prodigiously the most self-interested man of your acquaintance. Are you all right? Would you wish to return? Have I blackened you further with my insensitive romantical notions?"

  She laughed, her chest doubling over with warmth. She could not help herself. He was an adorable mess. "I would gladly be out here all night, yet I fear it cannot be wise to stay out here much longer."

  "No?" He glanced around and gave a boyish grin. "Not even to dance in the moonlight?"

  "There is not much moonlight to be had," she answered. "I am not certain these rainclouds will ever stop."

  He sighed and shook his head. "You are a lady destined to be the death of me."

  "Now, what an appalling thing to say!” she mocked affront while attempting to hold her composure. “Whatever have I done to you?"

  "Made me a fool, I suppose."

  "No, you were a fool long before we ever met. I merely managed to channel that foolishness my way."

  "Careful, my lady, or you will convince me that you are ready for yet another kiss."

  To have his lips on hers again. A shiver went up her spine at the thought, and for a brief moment, she did not know how to answer him.

  Just then, they could hear the strains of music for the first dance beginning through the door.

  George bowed low and offered his hand. "If you are not otherwise engaged, would you dance this set with me?"

  She giggled. This was something he would have attempted years ago, and she would have batted his hand away and forced him back inside the ballroom where it was proper. Where they should be. Her eyes met the twinkling mischief in his, and for once, she did not worry what others could be thinking of them. Instead, she curtsied deeply, her peach flounces circling around her and the lace fan dangling from her wrist. "I am not otherwise engaged. I would be happy to stand up with you."

  Then ever so slowly, George stepped forward and wrapped one hand around her waist, the other hand claiming hers. Little by little they began to dance as she had never danced previously.

  "What is this?" she asked, amazed at how easy it was to pick up the steps and how gracefully they could move about on the balcony.

  "’Tis the waltz. I saw Lord Compton doing it at a ball not too long ago. You would not believe the recognition he received for it as well. Complete scandal, but so elegant, it was all anyone could talk of."

  "And the lady? What became of her?"

  "She is to become his wife this summer. I believe it is safe to say that she managed to recover from the scrapes of such outlandish behavior."

  Catherine grinned. "I think I like this waltz."

  "Do you?" He swirled her around tightly and then said, "Then we shall have to make sure we will dance it for our betrothal ball."

  “Betrothal ball?” She swatted his arm with her hand. “You are certainly hopeless."

  "What?" He blinked. "Do you honestly believe my parents will let us be spoken for each other and not host a gala announcing it to the world? I am the last and the most favorite of their children to get married. It will be a grand affair, let me assure you."

  "You know exactly what I am speaking of!" She playfully swatted him again as they swirled around once more. "Now, stop this twaddle. You are distracting me completely."

  "Perfect. I am doing exactly what I set out to do—distracting you into forgetting your silly beliefs and embracing mine."

  She would have laughed again, but his lips found hers once more, and all at once, Catherine stifled every protest she was going to make and allowed them all to flitter over the balcony and down into the wet garden below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

  It was some time later that George remembered his promise to his mama to pay proper attention to the other ladies too. In fact, he did not recall that particular conversation until his mother gave him a rather nonplussed look. "Forgive me," he said as he approached her. He had just handed Catherine over to dance with her stepson. "I have been entranced completely by an angel."

  "So I see," hissed his mama. "Half of London noticed as well."

  "Has it been so very bad?"

  "Bad?" She tossed her hands and then walked toward the central door. "Follow me."

  He did just that. They mutually halted more than once to greet acquaintances and dear friends whilst they moved through the throng. Finally, she led him to the library and shut the door. The room was darkened and cold, but like magic, the butler came, lit a few candles, and started the fire going.

  "Thank you, Horace, though you did not have to do so yourself," Lady Hamson said as she sat down on the nearest chair and pointed for George to do the same.

  He bowed. "You are welcome, my lady, but I fear the rest of the staff is already occupied. Without causing too much attention to your whereabouts, I assumed it would be best if I did the menial chores."

  "Very good."

  "Will you be
needing anything else, my lady?"

  "No, Horace. You have helped immensely." After he left, she turned toward George with all the exasperation of a beleaguered hostess. "I cannot believe you. Secluding yourself away with the young widow the moment you had a chance. George, you know the rumor mill. You know what dangers you put yourselves in. Why would you do such a thing?"

  "Because I cannot care anymore."

  "Well, you should care at my ball."

  "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to cause you woe."

  She shook her head. "Nay, the trouble is not mine at all. The genuine concern are the rumors being spread about by Miss Hemming and her mama. Several people have reported scandalous intrigue on your part and other villainous things I will not even echo merely to ruin your character to save Miss Hemming’s."

  "Yes, I presume the gabblemongers are having a heyday with everything." He smiled.

  "This is no laughing matter, son. Indeed, it is horrendous. And then with your actions tonight, I have not a notion what to do with it all."

  He looked his mama in the eye and said simply, "Let it be. You and I both know I would never truly put Lady Romney in danger. I love her too much to be as cruel as that, and everything else is lies. I merely locked the balcony so she and I could have a heartfelt moment together."

  "A moment that lasted nearly half an hour."

  "Yes, a private minute so I could gradually begin to help her heal. If you do not support my court to her, that is not something I need to distress myself over. My chief concern is and will always be how Catherine is getting on."

  "So it is Catherine now?"

  "It always has been, Mother. I am only fortunate enough to finally be allowed to use it once more."

  "You really do love her, do you not?"

  "Aye." He moved in his seat. "I only went to her on the balcony because she had purposely hidden herself from everyone and looked to be crying. She needed a friend, a shoulder to cry on, and I will be outraged if that is any man but me."