The Wanton Widow - A Regency Novella Read online

  THE WANTON WIDOW

  By Caylen McQueen

  Chapter One

  “Willow! What on earth do you think you are doing?”

  When Wilomena Worthington heard the sound of her brother's voice, she halted outside the stables. She held onto the horse's bridle and turned around slowly. A scolding was imminent, but what did she care? She just needed to get it over with so she could enjoy her afternoon on horseback.

  “I'm going for a ride. What does it look like I'm doing?”

  “Dressed like that?!” Her brother raked his disapproving gaze over her body. She was clad in breeches, a gentleman's shirt, and a fashionable lady's riding jacket. Her odd assortment of attire was bound to attract unwanted attention.

  Willow turned her attention to her horse, who was a far more agreeable companion. “And what is wrong with the way I am dressed?”

  “Need I even say it?! If someone sees you like this, they'll think you're some sort of hoyden!”

  “Arthur...” As she stroked her horse's mane, Willow rolled her eyes at her brother. “Why should I care if I am perceived as such? I care little for the opinions of others. Besides, if any gentlemen should happen to see me like this, I am sure they will think I look fetching!”

  Arthur raked a grieved hand down the length of his face. “What would mother think if she was alive today? What would your husband think?!”

  A crease appeared between her eyes as she scowled at her brother. It was true: Willow did not fret about the opinions of others, least of all, her late husband's. She was married at the age of seventeen, and her husband was nearly fifty. Owing to the gap in their ages, their marriage wasn't a happy one. He shunned her, scolded her, and treated her as if she were a child. She was widowed at the age of two and twenty, having lost her husband to apoplexy.

  Now, at six and twenty, Willow had taken it upon herself to enjoy her freedom. Unfortunately, her brother's censure often made freedom impossible.

  “Have you finished chiding me? I have some scenery to enjoy, if you don't mind...”

  When she started to mount her horse, Arthur seized her arm. “There will be some gentlemen coming for cards today. These men are my closest companions, and if you have any sense at all, you will change out of those clothes before they arrive!”

  “And if you have any sense at all...” Willow tugged her arm away from his grip, “you will leave me to enjoy my ride!”

  Willow mounted the horse, with one leg on either side of the animal. In her opinion, there was nothing worse than riding sidesaddle. Her brother had called her a hoyden, but it wasn't as if she never wore lady's gowns. She embraced her femininity, but she preferred breeches when she was on horseback.

  Willow rode fast, much faster than most ladies would dare. She sped away from her brother's estate and headed toward the lush green fields. The wind ripped through her raven tresses, which billowed behind her like a silken cape. She enjoyed the rural landscape: the grassy plains and rolling hillsides. She sped past a field of wildflowers, and took a rest by a peaceful brook. Willow was thoroughly enjoying the quiet solitude of her afternoon ride.

  She tied her horse to a tree and lay in the grass. The warm sunlight poured onto her ivory skin, which was prickled by the breeze. She closed her tawny eyes as she listened to the sounds of the gurgling brook and the birds chirping in the trees. It was truly a beautiful day. Thank goodness she did not let her brother ruin it for her!

  Nearly an hour later, when she had her fill of the scenery, Willow leapt to her feet. A few errant blades of grass were clinging to her backside, so she dusted herself off. Willow untied her horse, mounted up, and headed back to her brother's abode.

  She deposited her horse in the stables and headed to her room. As she ventured down the hall, she thought she heard voices, male voices—a few she did not recognize. Willow followed the sounds as she tiptoed through the hallway. Her exploration led her to the parlor, where she cautiously peered inside. Sure enough, Arthur and his friends had already gathered for cards. They were laughing, sipping port and smoking cheroots.

  At first, she was going to follow her brother's advice. She thought about changing into a proper lady's attire, but she couldn't resist the temptation to subject him to horror. After his afternoon scolding, it was the least he deserved! Willow strutted into the parlor, breeches and shirtsleeves and all.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen!” Willow greeted them as she sashayed into the room. In an instant, all eyes were on her. She slid a glance in the direction of Arthur, who looked as if he was seconds away from throttling her. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all!” One of the gentlemen exclaimed. He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and motioned for her to sit. When she was seated, Willow's eyes swiveled around the room. There were a few card tables, at which nine or ten gentlemen were seated, and she only recognized half of them. When she caught the gaze of one man in particular, she winked at him.

  “This must be your lovely sister!” said one of the unfamiliar men, an older man with a bushy white beard.

  “It is, Sir Hector,” Arthur said with a groan. “Although, at the moment, I am not quite certain I want to claim her as kin.”

  “How unkind!” Willow protested. She exchanged another secret wink with the Adonis across the way. He was tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, and looked as if he had been chiseled from marble. Then she turned her attention to the three men sitting at her table. “Gentlemen, would you mind if I joined you for a game of cards?”

  “Be my guest!” shouted the middle-aged baronet sitting across from her. Willow did not recognize him either, but he looked more than willing to deal her in.

  Willow leaned forward. She laid her elbows against the table and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “And could someone pour me a glass of port?” She knew she was acting brazen, to say the least, but she wasn't afraid of scandal. It wasn't as if she was some unspoilt young miss who needed to be mindful of her reputation.

  Two men leapt at the opportunity to pour her a drink. As soon as she had her port, the baronet asked, “Would you like a smoke?”

  “Don't mind if I do!” she exclaimed, and he helped her light one of his cigars. In the corner of her eye, she could see her brother's head hanging between his shoulders, and she knew she would be in for the tongue-lashing of her life.

  Willow sipped her drink, smoked—even though she hated the taste—and played whist with the boys. At the end of the day, she had even won a few guineas, which had her feeling quite pleased with herself. Willow played several games, but it seemed the gentlemen had more stamina than her. When she had her fill of cards, it seemed they had just gotten started.

  Willow handed her cigar to the baronet and rose from the table. When they saw her leaving, one of the men exclaimed, “Leaving so soon?”

  “Aww,” Willow cooed. “Will you miss my company, Mr. Wells?”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Wells admitted, “it isn't every day you see a woman in breeches, playing cards and acting like one of us. I think it's fascinating!”

  When she saw her brother's scowl, she said, “I do not think my brother finds it fascinating. I should really excuse myself before h e works himself into a state of high dudgeon.”

  “Well then... farewell, Miss Worthington!” the baronet called to her. “Farewell, my queen of hearts!”

  Willow bowed to him before exiting the room.

  Under his breath, her Adonis whispered, “And I will make her the queen of diamonds...”

  Thinking no one would notice his absence, her Adonis rose from the table and followed her into the hallway. She was waiting by the door, the little minx, as if she was waiting for him.

&nbs
p; Her Adonis grabbed her by the waist and shoved her against the wall. As he kissed her on the forehead, he said, “Good evening, Mrs. Worthington.”

  “Please, Philip.” Willow laid a finger on his lips. “You know I do not like it when you call me that.”

  “Alright then. Willow,” he corrected himself. “What are you playing at, you naughty girl? Gambling? Smoking cigars? You're liable to give your poor brother a heart attack!”

  “Then let us hope he does not leave the parlor, for I would not want him to see this!” Willow yanked off Philip's cravat and started trailing kisses across his neck. His eyelids fluttered as her lips devoured him.

  When her mouth left his skin, Philip took a step back and raked a hand through his hair, distraught, as if her kisses had been his undoing. The Earl of Mowbray, Philip Boulstridge, was truly an arrestingly handsome man, and he had the most intense blue eyes she had ever seen. If ever there was a man who had been touched by angels, it had to be him.

  “I have to have you,” he vowed. “I must have you.”

  “Soon,” she promised him. “Very soon.”

  “But I need you now!” Philip rushed forward, pinning her against the wall again.

  In the corner of her eye, Willow saw the butler heading in their direction, so she gently pushed him away and tried to compose herself. “Control yourself, Philip. We would not want to make a scene.”

  “You say that now, you cheeky little minx,” he said with a chuckle, “but you're the one who lured me out and started tearing at my clothes.” He motioned toward his discarded cravat.

  “True. That's very true.”

  “Does your brother know about us?”

  “No.” As she shook her head, Willow took her lower lip between her teeth. “But he will.”

  * * *

  “You're leaving?!” her brother shrieked. “Where on earth will you go?!”

  “Does it matter?”

  As soon as Willow lifted her valise, Arthur wrested it from her hands and lowered it to the floor. “Of course it matters! I care about you! You're my sister! You're the only family I have left!”

  Willow laid a hand over her heart. Though she was touched by his sentiment, nothing would make her change her mind. “You really want to know where I intend to go?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “If I tell you, you mustn't get angry!”

  “I won't get angry.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise!” However, he could not look her in the eye as he delivered his promise, as he was sure he wouldn't be able to keep it. His sister's unpredictable behavior often had him swimming in a sea of vexation.

  “I am going to London with Lord Mowbray.” Willow reported her news with her chin held high.

  “What?! Philip? Why?!”

  “Must I really go into detail, brother?” Willow grabbed her valise once again, and passed it to one of the footmen. As they were currently standing in the foyer, her freedom wasn't far away.

  “Are you going to live with him?”

  “Yes,” she answered calmly. “In his townhouse. In London.”

  “Does he intend to marry you?!”

  “At present? No.”

  Arthur buried his face in his hands as he erupted with a groan. Philip had been a close friend for several years, and now he had the audacity to sully his sister? If not for the fact that Philip was a crack shot, Arthur might have called him out. “So, what? Has he offered you carte-blanche? You're just going to be his mistress?!”

  “No.” Willow took another step toward the door, determined to be rid of her brother sooner than later. “More like he is my mistress. I prefer to think of it that way.”

  Chapter Two

  Edward Harcourt could not tear his eyes away from her. Nineteen-year-old Jane Abrahms was a goddess, an incomparable angel, emoting perfection in every smile and pout. Her golden curls had been piled on her head in such a fashion, Edward swore it looked like a halo. Her cheeks were round, rosy and preciously pink; and her alabaster skin seemed to glow.

  As transfixed as he was by the young lady, he didn't see his friend Olly approaching, not until he felt the slap on his back. “Aren't you setting your sights a bit too high, my stuttering chum?” Olly teased him. He followed his friend's gaze to Miss Abrahms, where she was currently surrounded by several suitors, wide-eyed and ardent.

  “A-am I?”

  “Yes!” Olly exclaimed. “I say this as your friend, and because I want to spare you from further misery. She is so far above your reach that she is practically sitting on a cloud!”

  Edward, who was perpetually crestfallen, felt his shoulders sink even further. “You think so?”

  “Yes. This is not an opinion, but a fact,” Olly continued. “Everyone knows she is the most beautiful girl in the room. You'd have better luck courting unicorns than you would at courting Miss Abrams.”

  “You're p-probably right.” Alas, his friend spoke the truth. Miss Abrahms had many beaux who were better men than him. Edward wasn't particularly handsome, nor was he in possession of a fortune or title. He was incredibly tall, over six feet, and he was a bit on the skinny side. As a result, his limbs were lanky, and his stance was somewhat awkward. His hair was an unremarkable shade of golden brown, a bit ginger in certain lighting. He had a smattering of freckles across his nose, which made him look quite boyish, despite the fact that he was four and twenty.

  On top of everything, he lacked the eloquence he would require to woo a woman like Jane Abrahms. Ever since he was a boy, he had a terrible stutter that he could never quite overcome. The more nervous he was, the worse it got. And Miss Abrahms certainly made him nervous!

  About the only thing he could offer her was a good heart. As far as Edward was concerned, Miss Abrahms already had his heart. He fancied himself in love with her, which was a ridiculous notion, since his entire acquaintance with the lady amounted to two awkward encounters and a few exchanged pleasantries.

  “Well,” Olly went on, “you do have one thing to offer her that the others don't have.”

  “And what might that be?” Edward asked, sighing. “The fact that I am a hopeless slowtop?”

  “No!” Olly gave his friend a reassuring slap on the shoulder. “You are just as chaste as she is! I'm sure that would have some kind of appeal.”

  “D-d-doubtful,” Edward disagreed. “I think women would prefer a man with experience.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And it isn't as if I could tell her I'm a virgin!” Edward exclaimed. “That is a secret between you and me and... a select few.” And now, his secret was also known by a scowling old matron, whose gaze swiveled in his direction. When he saw her raised eyebrow, he realized he had spoken too loudly.

  “Look, old boy, have you even spoken to her since you arrived?!”

  “No.” Edward arrived at the assembly rooms over an hour ago, but all he could do was stare at her in silent admiration.

  “Then... at the very least, you need a speak to her!”

  “Really?” Edward narrowed his eyes at his friend. “A moment ago, you were telling me I should court unicorns! Why should I even bother?”

  “You're practically frothing at the mouth for her!” Olly noted. “At the very least, you should indulge yourself in some friendly discourse with the woman of your dreams.”

  “I should?”

  “Yes, old chap, you should!” Portly Olly gave him a little shove, prodding his friend in the right direction. As he shuffled toward the lady, Edward cast a few desperate glances over his shoulder. He kept looking back at Olly, hoping his friend would offer him some last minute guidance.

  He could feel his stomach coiling in knots as he approached. The closer he got, the more beautiful she looked. She was surrounded by at least a half-dozen besotted beaux, each one more aggressive than the next. As he drew near, Edward was wondering how he was supposed to muscle his way in.

  “M-m-m-m.” He couldn't get her name out of his mouth.

  �
�So you like to paint, Miss Abrahms?” asked one of her suitors, with whom she was conversing.

  “Oh, I do! I have a particular fondness for watercolors,” Jane said. “Last year, my mother and I spent the summer with my uncle in Florence, and I am sure that city is every artist's dream. I got to paint a lovely watercolor of the Ponte Vecchio.”

  “Do you often go abroad, Miss Abrahms?” asked another suitor.

  “Not often enough, although I do love to travel.” As she spoke, she gave her silk fan a coquettish flutter. “Have you ever been to Italy, Lord Covington?”

  “Once, but it was several years ago. I was in Venice, not Florence.”

  Edward turned his gaze on Lord Covington, who was likely the embodiment of everything Miss Abrahms was looking for. He was tall, tanned, titled, and had no problem conversing with the lady.

  “M-m-m-miss...” Edward thought he would try to address her again, but his tongue was particularly disagreeable at the moment.

  “You are also an accomplished pianist, are you not?” asked another admirer. He was a bit short, but he had the most impressive facial hair Edward had ever seen. His mutton chops were dark, groomed, and extended all the way to his chin. Once, Edward had tried to grow a beard, but all he could manage was a tuft of pitiful pubescent fuzz.

  “I would hardly say I am accomplished, Mr. Beaumont, but I do have some skill on the pianoforte.”

  “I would love to hear you play sometime,” said Mr. Beaumont with the mutton chops. “Will you be attending Lady Albreight's musicale by any chance?”

  Edward closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced her name out of his mouth. “MISS ABRAHMS!”

  He shouted her name so loudly, Miss Abrahms had no choice but to look in his direction. “Oh! Mr. Harcourt! How long have you been standing there?”

  “I j-j-just arrived,” Edward told her. As he spoke, his lips were tilted by a slight smile. The fact that she remembered his name gave him satisfaction.

  “Well, it is a pleasure to see you again.” And just like that, her gaze went back to Mr. Beaumont. “Yes, I do believe I might be at the musicale, but I am not certain I would be confident enough to play. I have never been too comfortable being the center of attention.” Her words were ironic. At the moment, she was surrounded by seven potential suitors. She was certainly the center of attention!