Page 22 of Loving a Dowager
The concern in her eyes gave him pause. “Why are you inquiring about my health?” He reached for her and she hugged him tight. Wrapping his arms about her as he stood, Walter said, “Let’s get you back under the covers.”
She tightened her hold on him. “Will you join me?”
How he desperately wanted to say yes, but his instincts told him to remain patient and give her time. They walked back to the bed and Henrietta hopped up and scuttled back under the covers. Out of habit, he tucked the sheets about her like he used to with his nephews and niece. He sat upon the bed one foot on the floor and the other bent at the knee.
She reached for his hand and he threaded his fingers with hers. “Walter. I want…”
He waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he said, “For years I’ve watched you skillfully avoid the attention of men.” Summoning all the courage he could, he asked, “Why me? Why now?”
“Why you…” Henrietta shifted to sit upright and pulled the sheet up to cover her generous chest. “You are the only man, Walter Weathersbee, who has ever caused my mind to cease fixating on what needs to be done and focus on me—my wants, my wishes. Your kisses make me feel desired and cherished.” She leaned forward, exposing the tops of her breasts. “And now that my boys are happily married, I believe I am ready to see to my own happiness.”
His self-restraint was fraying by the second. He wanted to strip out of his clothes and fulfill all his fantasies, but Henrietta had used the wordsI believe, notI am, and those two additional words were enough to plant a seed of doubt in his mind. He didn’t want to leave, yet he couldn’t act upon his desires with a clear conscience. He shifted to sit next to her and wrapped an arm about her.
Henrietta snugged closer. “I gather you have decided I’m not to receive more kisses.”
“Not tonight, my dear.”
“Tomorrow, then.” Her cheeky response surprised him.
“Aye, mayhap tomorrow.” He sensed her smiling. Walter took pleasure at having made her happy and held her tight.
She rested her head against his shoulder, and it wasn’t long before her breathing evened out. Gently extracting himself from her bed, Walter pressed a kiss to her temple and positioned the covers over her bare shoulders. Looking down at the woman who owned his heart, the truth hit him—he needed to be prepared and willing to also stop placing the needs of his family above his own.
Chapter Twelve
Unwilling to leave the safe cocoon of her bed, Henrietta shimmied down under the linens and pressed a pillow over her head. She had slept soundly until the first streaks of dawn peeked through the curtains. Walter had gone, leaving the space next to her cold and empty. She groaned as remorse settled in. Walter had aroused responses within her that overpowered her senses. She panicked. It was no secret that he had lain with skilled courtesans and experienced widows, while she had only ever been intimate with her late husband. Ashamed of her lack of courage, she sighed and rolled over to face the entrance to her bedchamber. The sharp click-clack of heels signaled her daughter-in-law’s arrival. No more lingering in bed pondering about what could have been a night of decadent pleasure.
Having missed the morning meal, Henrietta had two choices: feign illness or face Bronwyn’s inquisition directly. It was doubtful Bronwyn would believe her claims of exhaustion. Although it was partially the truth. Her aging body was unaccustomed to the heightened rate at which her heart beat due to Walter’s attentions last night. Rolling out of bed, Henrietta padded over to her chest of drawers to quickly retrieve and don a night gown. Her skin prickled as the material skimmed over her. Memories of Walter’s palms running up her sides and then cupping her bosoms caused her nipples to harden. She returned to the bed, reached for her robe, and slipped it on. Now was not the time for reliving the intimate moments of the prior evening. Henrietta moved to the windows and pulled back the drapes. Daylight streamed into the room. Good gracious, it was nearing midday.
Striding through her bed chamber, she rolled her shoulders back preparing for an onslaught of questions from Bronwyn. She made it to the threshold before Bronwyn, garbed in a delightful light-green day dress, waltzed in with a tray. “Why did you not join us this morn?”
The concern on her daughter-in-law’s features was touching. Not having birthed a daughter, Henrietta now had two. Albeit one resided on the other side of the world. Bronwyn’s fierce need for independence and natural instinct to assist others meant they often thought alike, which most of the time was an advantage but might prove a nuisance that day.
“I simply decided to remain abed and rest a while longer.” Henrietta frowned as she seated herself opposite Bronwyn at the table. When had the servants removed the remnants of her meal with Walter? More importantly, which of the servants had performed the task? She glanced over to the settee. Her gown and her other articles of clothing were also missing. The staff were extremely loyal to Landon, but they had been Henrietta’s supporters first and for many more years.
Smiling, Bronwyn picked up the pot and poured a steady stream of hot tea into a cup. “Landon informed me of Lord Weathersbee’s rather intriguing visit with the recently rediscovered Lady Irene.” She held out the cup and saucer for Henrietta.
“My thanks, dear.” Henrietta accepted the tea and set it down upon the table. “Did my son inform you that the lady is to wed Otterman?” While she was an advocate for love matches, there were exceptions to every rule. Both Lady Irene and Otterman had claimed love was the cause for their ill-conceived decisions. But Henrietta believed love gave one strength and wisdom. Her sons’ and Theo’s marriages were proof that her hypothesis was correct.
Smoothing out her napkin in her lap, Bronwyn said, “Aye, he did. He also said Lord Weathersbee intended to request your assistance in seeing to Lady Irene’s return into the fold of the ton.” Henrietta waited for Bronwyn to state her opinion regarding the crazed notion, that she of all the ladies of the ton could manage to pull off such a grand feat. Instead her daughter-in-law’s gaze shifted over to the settee and then back to Henrietta. “Will you provide Lord Weathersbee with what he seeks?”
Either Bronwyn had been informed of Walter’s visit last night or the girl was far too insightful. Regardless, there was no hiding Henrietta’s heated cheeks. She lifted her cup to her lips, lips that had been thoroughly kissed by Walter, and sipped on the tepid tea. Would she be brazen enough to lure Walter back into her bed? A giddy feeling erupted within her and she smiled behind her cup. Yes. Yes, she would.
Bronwyn’s brows met in the center as she leaned forward and rested her elbows upon the table to assess Henrietta’s features. With a shrug, Bronwyn answered the question herself. “Your smile tells me you are considering the matter.” Brows still set in a frown, Bronwyn reached for a slice of toast. “What a coup it would be, to have Lady Irene—a lady who had been disowned, banished even…” She picked up her butter knife and waved it about in the air. “A woman who birthed a child out of wedlock, then married a gentleman well and truly in dun territory.” Bronwyn let out a sigh. “Ahh. To have her relaunched into society with an aplomb that ensured her place in society, not relegated to the fringes…” Bronwyn fixed her gaze upon Henrietta and said, “Ooh, what I would give to see that!”
Henrietta sputtered as she returned her teacup to its saucer. “When you phrase it like that, that would be rather remarkable.”
“I’ve not met the woman.” To Henrietta’s relief, Bronwyn laid down the knife. “Let’s invite her for tea so we can devise a plan.”
Her daughter-in-law was mad if she believed they could manage such a task. “My dear, such a triumph would be… well, near impossible.”
“Bah! We are Neales. If Lady Irene had the courage to face a life of misery and squalor rather than give up the name of the sod that got her belly full, then I believe—with, of course, the assistance of Cousin Theo—we could devise a reentry that will leave the ton no choice but to embrace her, to forgive and forget past deeds.”
Henrietta shook her head. “You, my dear, have been confined in this house too long.” She took in Bronwyn’s flushed face and sparkling eyes. Henrietta recognized that guilty, mischievous look. “You have been reading those horrid Radcliffe novels, have you not?”
“How can you refer to them as horrid? I believe them to be splendid works of fiction. Clever, confident women outsmarting men. The heroines remind me of…”
Henrietta arched a brow. When Bronwyn didn’t complete her sentence, she said, “Lady Irene is no fictional character. And the gossip of the ton is a far scarier living creature than the monster described in the newest gothic fiction penned by… oh, what is the name of that woman…”
