Page 1 of Loving a Dowager
Chapter One
Henrietta Neale’s heels hit the polished wooden floors of Neale & Sons with a regimented click-clack. The tempo of her footsteps echoed the urgency of the matter at hand. In no mood for idle chatter, Henrietta was intent on speaking to the man her second son, Christopher, left in charge of her deceased husband’s law firm. Lord Walter Weathersbee. The warm smiles from the staff were replaced with furrowed brows as they caught sight of the determined set of her normally friendly features. It was her first appearance at the firm since Walter assumed role as principal.
A few feet from her destination, Henrietta grumbled, “Of all the qualified applicants, Christopher had to choose the most pedantic fellow I know.” Her sons might well believe Walter capable of running Neale & Sons, but she knew better. Lord Walter Weathersbee, four years her junior and the third son of a marquise, was nothing like her deceased husband George Neale, and she would not allow the man to destroy the legacy George had worked so hard to establish and her sons to maintain.
She pushed open his office door and marched up to stand before Walter. The massive hardwood desk that once belonged to George stretched between them. With her hands firmly planted on her hips, she stared down at the man who used to trail her about her papa’s estate. “Pray tell, why did you decline Lady Bertha as a client of Neale & Sons?”
Walter removed his spectacles and stood, forcing her to tilt up her chin. He was no longer a lanky lad barely an inch or two taller than her. “How kind of you, Henrietta, to come for a visit.” He motioned for her to take a seat as he sank back into his own chair.
Unwilling to relinquish her position, she remained standing. Oh, how she wished she had need of a cane. A woman of her years should have a cane. Then she could use it to whack the insolent young pup over the head. She glared at the man before her. Silver strands weaved through his chestnut hair. A quick simple calculation reminded her Walter was seven-and-forty. Studying him closer revealed that Walter was no longer the doe-eyed pup of their youth but a rather dashing gentleman. The man’s lips curved into a smile, provoking a long-forgotten fluttering in her chest. A multitude of questions raced through her mind as to why she would experience such a reaction to the man who was once a boon companion.
Henrietta reorganized her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She needed to convey to Walter that neither George nor her sons would ever turn away a woman in need of legal representation. No. George had been a firm believer that women should have control of their own assets. Until this day, she’d had no need to invoke her rights as fifty percent share owner in the firm. Her sons fully understood her stance on the firm’s policy to defend and protect women’s interests. A position she would have to make clear to the man whose gaze was fully trained upon her.
Slightly bent at the waist, Henrietta huffed. “That scoundrel and fortune hunter, Lord Otterman, is taking advantage of my friend.” Had she not still been suffering from the effects of his smile, she might have begun with a more informative and appropriate opening statement.
Walter lowered his hands that had been clasped beneath his chin. “So you said in your missive to me yesterday. And as instructed, I paid a visit to Lady Bertha, who informed me she was in no need of my services. The lady claims her impending nuptials are the result of a love match.” He motioned to the empty chair next to her. “Please, have a seat.”
She didn’t intend to stay long, but it would be rude to remain standing. She slipped into the chair, mentally reassuring herself her decision to sit had nothing to do with the buckling of her knees at the sight of his lopsided grin.
After smoothing out her skirts, she faced Walter once more. “Bah. Bertha is still an innocent despite her having reached the age of nine-and-forty. She has never been truly courted before. Otterman’s only interest in Bertha is her recent inheritance—a healthy sum, from what she has shared with me. The cad is a fortune hunter; he’s not in love with her.”
Henrietta’s palms began to sweat as fears from her youth resurfaced. Daughter of a duke, her dowry had been substantial. The summer leading up to her debut, she had agonized with a younger version of the man seated opposite her. Walter clearly had forgotten her abhorrence of men like Otterman.
“Are you certain? Otterman has yet to sire an heir. Offering to marry a woman past her prime childbearing years is proof enough for me the man is in love.”
“Good gracious, spoken like a confirmed bachelor. What would you know of love? You’ve never married.”
Walter’s brows knitted for a brief moment before returning to their neutral state. He was never skilled at masking his reactions; at least, not that she could recall. “That I never married does not mean I’ve never been in love,” he replied.
“If that is true, then you are a fool not to have offered for the woman’s hand.” Henrietta sat back and waited for Walter to object. The man was no fool. Even when he had but fourteen years on this earth, he was the only person of her acquaintance who could drive her to distraction with his clever word play—until she met and fell in love with George. Tapping her toe against the leg of her chair, she counted to thirty. “What? No clever retort this time?”
Sunlight glinted off his spectacles as they swung from side to side. “You, my dear, are correct. I should have informed my lady love of my interest, but by the time I had gathered enough courage to do so, she was no longer available to my suit.”
His intense stare left an unsettled feeling in her tightly corseted chest. She had long ago dispensed with the need to fidget under another’s gaze. Yet resisting the urge to shift in her seat was fast becoming a challenge. Memories of Walter making her laugh and the freedom she felt in his company flooded her mind. She smiled, recalling their brisk early morning rides. Racing across their family estates before they were forced inside to begin their daily routines. His in the schoolroom with a tutor and hers stuck in the drawing room learning idiotic skills that were expected of an accomplished lady, like painting with watercolors or how to sit with an artificial smile. Activities she abandoned the day she married George. Her heart ached as another memory came to the forefront: her wedding, a simple but love-filled ceremony held at Hadfield Hall some thirty-plus years ago.
Walter cleared his throat, bringing her focus back to the present. She stared at the mature, composed, handsome man before her. Banished were the images of the boy she had secretly wished was a year or two older than herself. She focused on the fine lines about his eyes and his lips. This older version of Walter Weathersbee was wreaking havoc on her normally steady pulse. Heat warmed her cheeks. What had they been discussing?
Love. His missed opportunity. Tugging at the fingertips of gloves, she blurted, “How is it that you did not find another to love? With so many men lost or at war, surely there must have been a woman or two that caught your attention over the years.”
“I could ask the same of you, Henrietta Neale. Your husband died at an early age. Why haven’t you found another man to marry?”
Of course, Walter had to form the one counterargument that she wished to avoid. “When did you develop the habits of a barrister—answering a question with a question?”
“And again, I could ask the same of you.” If she hadn’t been watching him closely, she might have missed the slight twitch at the corner of his lips.
Infuriating man. As a boy, when she had challenged him, he would be the first to give in. Apparently over the years he’d developed a stubbornness. She wasn’t sure if she liked or disliked this new trait of Walter’s. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I had my hands full raising two boys.”
“I understand.”
He would. When her eldest son Landon had ascended to the title and been forced to enter the fray of the ton, she too made her reentrance into society. The matrons had been quick to update her on all the scandalous gossip now that she was once again, one of them. It had been nearly two decades since Walter’s two older brothers and their wives had passed in a terrible carriage accident. Walter had undertaken their guardianship and the task of raising his two nephews and niece all on his own. The ton had been aghast all these years that he chose to care for the children rather than marry and provide the children with a mother.
An ache settled in the center of her chest. She hadn’t shared the litany of fears that had prevented her from taking the risk to love once more. She wasn’t ready to face them herself, let alone admit them to another. It stood to reason that Walter would also harbor reservations that prevented him from falling in love. Her intuition screamed that she was wrong—the Walter she had known was a passionate soul and more than capable of loving. But why had he remained a bachelor?
Agitated at the course of her thoughts, Henrietta rose out of her chair. “Walter Weathersbee, as principal of Neale and Sons, it is your duty to review the marriage agreements that the conniving Lord Otterman has had drawn up and ensure Lady Bertha’s interests are protected.”
Rising from his chair, he pressed his fingertips on the top of the desk. “Henrietta. I did not craft… nor did I vote upon the marriage laws… that dictate upon marriage a husband has every right…”
Throwing her arms in the air, she interrupted, “I don’t care what the blasted law is! I’m asking you to make certain that Lady Bertha is well provided for.” Counting to ten, in the hope of regaining her composure, she bowed her head and clasped her hands tightly behind her back.
