Page 2 of Loving a Dowager
His fingertips turned white. “Why are you asking this of me? Why not ask Landon to see to the matter?”
She raised her gaze to meet his. “Landon is no longer a barrister.” She looked about the office. “Neale & Sons is still a law firm, is it not? I’m coming to you because I—no, Lady Bertha needs excellent legal representation. George entrusted the running of the firm to Landon, Landon granted it to Christopher, and Christopher has left it to you to oversee in his absence.” Moisture welled at the corner of her eye at the mention of her second son. She had failed to extract a date of return from Christopher, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she would ever see her baby boy again before she left this earth. After all, every day over fifty was a miracle. For heaven’s sake, she’d outlived most of the women that she’d had her coming out with, and even fewer men in their set were of a similar age. Walter was one of the few that remained hale and hearty. He raked his fingers through a remarkably full head of hair.
Walter snatched up his spectacles and settled them back upon his nose. The glasswear made him appear older, somehow bridging the age difference between them. “I’ll consider your request to review the marriage settlements.” He sank back down into his seat.
He hadn’t agreed as she’d hoped, but he also hadn’t said no. “My thanks, Walter.”
He ducked his head and peered at the thick file before him. Shuffling papers about, he was muttering quietly, but Henrietta was well versed in reading lips. Narrowing her gaze on his lips, she deciphered his nattering:I should have simply said no. Say no to Henrietta. What a notion.
He snorted and finally noticed that she remained in the room with him. “What the devil? Why are you still here?” His dark brows lowered. “It’s not like you to dilly dally.” Walter finally stood.
Henrietta debated whether or not to take a small step back to prevent him from towering over her. She leaned forward placing her palms flat on his desk. “Promise to have an answer for me by this eve.”
Walter’s eyes were drawn to her décolleté and widened until they were as large as two buttons. “I shall make no such promises.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I have much to consider.”
Her heart warmed, recognizing the flicker of appreciation in his expression was for her. She'd been impartial to men for years, but the heat in Walter's gaze ... it reminded her of parts of herself she'd long ignored. Lowering her gaze slightly, she once again was mesmerized by his firm but inviting lips. What an absurd notion. Inviting lips, indeed! She found herself not only newly aware of her own desires, but of things that ignited them. Walter seemed a completely new man before her today. Henrietta quickly executed a curtsy that women half her age struggled to complete without falling to their knees. An image of her on the floor in front of Walter flashed before her. She hadn’t a lurid thought in nearly two decades. In fact, too focused on ensuring the happiness and safety of others, she had not even considered or missed the gentle caresses nor the tantalizing feeling of a man inside her.
Walter had been spot on. She wasn’t one to waste a moment. Preferred to always be on the go. If she stalled, her lingering fear of being unwanted, not needed, and cast aside once more might swallow her whole, and George wasn’t here to save her this time. Solving one problem and then the next meant she need not face that dilemma. However, her boys were grown and happily married. They no longer needed her and she was desperate to fill that void, especially since Christopher’s departure.
Hoping Walter hadn’t read her mind like he easily had when they were younger, she straightened and said, “You are correct. There is much to consider. Are you attending the Redburns’ ball this eve?”
“I shall make it a point to attend if that is where you will be.” He walked out from behind the desk, closing the distance between them. A frisson in the air raised her senses. A magnetic pull she hadn’t experienced since the last time she had been intimate with George erupted within her. But the sensation disappeared as quickly as it came as Walter strode past her and opened the door to the office for her to leave. Well. The gall of the man to kick her out of Neale & Sons.
“Henrietta, your cheeks are flushed, and I can see your breathing is slightly labored. Perhaps being in your deceased husband’s office for an extended period has your nerves overwrought.”
This. This is why the man remained a bachelor. The man had not an inkling as to the cause of her discomfort, and she wasn’t too keen to acknowledge the truth. It wasn’t being in George’s old office—it was Walter.
Stomping to the door, she stopped inches from him to say, “Thank you for explaining to me how I feel and what I’m experiencing. How did I exist all these years without you?”
Her comment garnered her a look from Walter she’d never seen on his features before. Hurt. Guilt. Anguish. A combination that transformed his handsome male features into a dark and brooding man who awakened feeling within Henrietta that she had firmly believed dead. With a quick nod, she left the building and entered the Hadfield coach awaiting her on the street.
Pressing her palms to her heated cheeks, Henrietta took in as much air as her lungs could accommodate and counted to ten. When had Walter Weathersbee transformed from the scraggly young lad who adored her like an older sister to the devilishly intense man who dared to challenge her and reignited dormant desires?
Since her reentrance into the social whirl of the ton two years ago, Henrietta had been well aware of Walter’s shadowy presence at various events. She was always on alert and found having a familiar face in the crowd reassuring. On the rare occasion that they were within speaking distance, they had exchanged brief but pleasant greetings. Attributing the warmth that radiated in her chest when he was close to their past friendship, Henrietta was now faced with the reality the man increased not only her body temperature but the pace of her pulse. At the beginning of the season, Landon had shared with her his suspicion that Walter might hold a tendre for her after all these years. She had scoffed at the absurd idea but there was no denying the flicker of interest in Walter’s gaze that had so weakened her, the need for a cane was real.
Chapter Two
Slamming the thick file of information gathered on Lord Otterman closed, Walter grabbed his hat and coat off the stand beside the door. “Bloody troublesome women.” He pulled out his pocket watch—fourteen past the hour. Where had the hours gone? If he wanted to get to the cemetery before Henrietta, he’d have to take a hack rather than walk.
As he marched towards the front entrance, the conspicuous stares from office staff increased his pace. Since Christopher’s departure, Henrietta hadn’t stepped foot into Neale & Sons. The staff were no doubt curious as to what prompted the woman’s visit. Henrietta had no obvious ties to him, nor to any of the current cases that the firm was handling. Glaring back at them would do no good. Ignoring the overprotective bunch would be the best course of action. He slapped his hat on, tugged his gloves into place, and buttoned his coat that would hopefully ward off the chill outside. There was nothing he could do about the freezing glares he was leaving behind. Exiting through the front door, Walter waved down a hack.
“St. George’s Gardens.”
The driver nodded and pulled up the collar of his coat. Regularly visiting the grave of the deceased husband of the woman who owned your heart was hardly what one would call an act of romanticism. However, the increased number of reported cases of body snatching from the cemetery had led to Walter visiting George’s grave on a weekly basis. Henrietta would be devastated if anything were to happen to George. Time had not weakened Henrietta’s love for George, but it also hadn’t weakened Walter’s unrequited love for her. His frequent visits to his deceased friend had provided him an excuse to see Henrietta during the years she spent avoiding her ducal family. Since her return to society and residence in Mayfair, he had timed his visits to occur an hour before hers. Henrietta was a creature of habit, and once he ascertained her schedule, he adjusted his to accommodate his desire to see her on a regular basis. Today, however, he’d be lucky to arrive minutes before Henrietta. He still had to stop and purchase a bloom from the flower seller, ensure the trinket he’d brought was in place, and make his way to his hiding spot behind a large mausoleum which afforded the best viewing advantage.
The hack rolled to a stop. Walter jumped from the vehicle and flipped a crown up to the driver as he rushed to the corner.
A young woman held out a white bloom for him. “Yer late and the lady’s always bang up to the mark. Ye can give me yer gingerbread later.”
He took the bloom without stopping. There was more in the air than the normal floral scent—a hint of… vanilla. Walter slowed and turned, narrowing his gaze upon the flower seller. With her hood pulled forward, her features were hidden, he returned to stand before her.
Frowning at the woman’s bent head, Walter said, “I’ll return and cough up the blunt. Don’t leave.” He noticed her petite, clean hands clenching the flower-filled basket she held close.
“Yer gonna be late.”
She was right. Henrietta was never tardy. Rushing toward George’s grave, he twisted to gain a glimpse of the woman who was posing as the regular flower seller, but the lady was gone. Yes, she had been a lady. The straight posture, the soft skin of her hands, the slight lilt in her tone, all were clues to her true identity. But why would a lady of the ton masquerade as a merchant? The trinket jingled against his palm. He needed to hurry. He’d have to puzzle out the identity of the woman later.
Walter scanned the area for any sign of Henrietta. The grave site was eerily quiet. No rustling of the leaves. The ground was wet from the recent rain, muffling the crunch of pebbles beneath his boots as he approached George’s modest tombstone. He stuck the stem of the rose through the loop at the top of the charm he’d held in his palm. Kneeling, he gently laid the white flower on the ground. “By Jove, I think she’ll cherish this charm just as she treasures all the memories you gave her, George.”
