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An Unconventional Widow Page 6
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Juliet’s fair skin got fairer. Her hand stilled. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Do you wish to tell me what that means?’
‘No, Hugo. I don’t. At least, not yet.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But that is not why we are in here. You were going to tell me about your guests.’
‘Bravo, Juliet. You have put me in my place, which is not to question you about the men you see. But I do worry.’
She smiled gently at him. ‘I know you do, Hugo. But things are not that way.’
He would have believed her if she had not blushed again. But he chose not to comment.
‘Back to my problem. As a bachelor, and one with a reputation to maintain,’ he said, tongue-in-cheek, ‘it did not seem like the best thing for everyone involved to have Lady Fenwick-Clyde staying here. Although she is a widow and has a companion, I didn’t feel her good name could withstand the consequences of being here alone with me.’
Juliet’s violet eyes widened. ‘Since when have you cared a tuppence for that?’
This time Hugo reddened, a fact that irritated him. ‘Since I am not in the habit of ruining respectable women.’
‘You are in the habit of forming liaisons with widows.’ Her point was pertinent and the look of disbelief she wore told him she was not sure she believed his concern.
He shrugged. ‘Widows of a certain ilk. Lady Fenwick-Clyde is not in that category.’
‘Really? I look forward to meeting her, for I vow, Hugo, I have yet to meet the woman who can resist you or even wants to. Most fall willy-nilly into your arms and are glad of it.’ She cocked her delicate head to one side. ‘There is something about you. Your father had it.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Then why didn’t you succumb?’
She dropped her gaze for a long moment before looking back at him. ‘Because Rafael married me for convenience. He had decided you needed a woman’s hand. What he failed to realise was that you needed the hand of an older woman who could be a mother to you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Still, I was wise enough to know better than to lose my heart to him. He did not want it.’
Hugo was taken aback, but hid it. She had never told him this. He had known the marriage was one of convenience, but he had not realised she had cared for his father beyond that of a dutiful wife.
He did let his sympathy show. ‘I am so sorry, Juliet.’ He reached across the small table separating them and took one of her hands. ‘I did not realise or I would not have pried.’
She smiled. ‘It is in the past, my dear. I don’t dwell on it. And I have Joseph and Rosalie. I could not wish for more, yet I have it. I have your love and concern and a very generous widow’s portion.’ Her eyes turned mischievous. ‘What more could I want?’
Hugo did not say the word that came instantly to mind. He was not even comfortable thinking it. Yet, it had sprung forward without his conscious thought. Love. Damn, he was getting maudlin and for no good reason.
‘Well,’ she said briskly, looking away from the concern in his eyes, ‘I must go freshen up. I want to look my best when I meet this paragon who can resist temptation.’
Hugo stood and drew her up with him. He closed the distance between them and kissed her lightly on the top of her head that barely reached his shoulder.
‘You are an angel, Juliet. Thank you for coming.’
She grinned. ‘From what I’ve just heard, I would not miss this for the world. A woman who can resist you. Will wonders never cease?’
He watched her glide from the room. Better she think Annabell Fenwick-Clyde could resist him than she know that both he and the lady shared an awareness of each other that was like dry wood ready to burst into an inferno. Even better that she not know he intended to seduce Annabell. Juliet being here provided respectability—it did not prevent anything from happening.
Annabell stood in the salon gazing up at Sir Rafael Fitzsimmon. Sir Hugo had a look of his father. Both were tall and well formed with rich chestnut-coloured hair that fell rakishly across their broad foreheads. But where Sir Hugo’s eyes were a startling grass green, his father’s had been deep brown. Both men shared Sir Hugo’s erotic mouth.
‘He was a handsome man, even in middle age,’ a light, female voice said. ‘As is his son.’
Annabell jumped and turned to face the speaker she had not heard enter the room. A petite woman with masses of waving Titian-coloured hair smiled at her. Sir Hugo’s stepmother was dressed in the latest fashion of pale muslin with an embroidered ruched hem. Pearls circled her wrists and throat and dripped from her tiny, shell-pink ears. She was a Pocket Venus, unless Annabell missed her mark, which she doubted. Her brothers would describe Lady Fitzsimmon as a diamond of the first water.
‘Pardon me,’ the lady said. ‘I did not mean to startle you. I am Juliet Fitzsimmon, Hugo’s stepmother.’
Annabell smiled and introduced herself. ‘It is not your fault. I was engrossed in studying your husband. As you said, he was very attractive. Even his picture radiates a sense of power and charisma. I can imagine that when he spoke to someone, he gave them his complete attention.’
Lady Fitzsimmon’s violet eyes, heavily fringed with pale red lashes, watched Annabell. ‘You have described him perfectly. One would almost think you knew him.’ She cocked her head to one side and her little Cupid’s bow mouth quirked into a smile. ‘But you know Hugo. It is very nearly the same.’
‘Not really,’ Annabell said, hoping to avoid a discussion about her host. ‘That is, I don’t know Sir Hugo well at all.’
She had not realised, until Lady Fitzsimmon said it, that she had attributed Sir Hugo’s traits to his father. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and had been totally unconscious.
‘I see you two have met,’ the object of their discussion drawled, entering the room.
While Annabell and Lady Fitzsimmon had dressed formally, Sir Hugo was his usual casual self. He wore a loose bottle-green coat and black pantaloons, a style only beginning to be popular but normally never worn in the evening. They were considered casual, daytime wear. His shirt points were moderate and he wore a loosely knotted cravat. He was dressed up for himself. Still, he radiated presence and…
Annabell took a deep breath. All he had to do was enter a room and her blood warmed. What was wrong with her? She did not love the man, yet she was intensely aware of him. She shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ Sir Hugo asked, his voice solicitous. ‘We must move closer to the fire.’
‘Thank you, no.’ Annabell silently berated herself for the breathiness of her voice, especially when Lady Fitzsimmon gave her a quizzical look. ‘I will go get a shawl.’
‘No,’ Sir Hugo said. He moved past Annabell and pulled the sash to summon a servant. ‘By the time you returned it would be dinner, and I don’t wish to push it back.’ His eyes warmed with something Annabell didn’t think was caused by the thought of food. ‘And I am hungry.’
Annabell closed her mouth on a retort telling him she would do as she pleased. There was no reason to be rude even if his action struck her as high-handed, even if his gaze on her made her uncomfortably aware that he was a man and she was a woman. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he disturbed her. She could be stubborn to a fault, but sometimes it was to her advantage.
‘Hugo tells me you study antiquities,’ Lady Fitzsimmon said.
Annabell studied the other woman’s face for a hint of what she felt. Most females were not the least bit interested in what Annabell did. To her surprise, Lady Fitzsimmon seemed to actually care or was a very good actress.
‘I like to find and preserve pieces of the past. That is why I am here. There is what appears to be a Roman villa on Sir Hugo’s land—in one of his very productive orchards.’ She cast him a look, daring him to say something. He kept quiet. ‘But I won’t know for sure until I uncover more of it.’
‘Hugo mentioned something about that. However did you hear about it?’
‘I was visiting the Society of Antiquaries, or rather I was th
ere listening to one of the members give a talk about his discoveries. It turned out to be this site.’
‘That explains how you found out,’ Sir Hugo interrupted, his voice dry, ‘but not why you are the one here instead of a man.’
‘Hugo.’ Lady Fitzsimmon’s voice was low.
He glanced at his stepmother before turning his attention back to Annabell. Annabell took a deep breath, telling herself not to explode. This was his house, his Roman villa and his money was funding the dig. He could tell her to leave, now, this instant, and very nearly had already.
She took a deep breath. ‘I was the only one present who was not already committed elsewhere. Besides—’ she met his gaze defiantly ‘—I am as well qualified as anyone else—male or female.’
As though realising Annabell was a power keg just waiting for the right spark, Lady Fitzsimmon intervened. ‘How long do you expect your work to take?’
It took Annabell a second to appreciate that Lady Fitzsimmon was trying to direct their conversation away from a volatile area. Only the lady did not know that this was equally risky. Annabell wanted to say not long at all, but honesty forbade her. She knew Sir Hugo wanted her gone quickly and feared if he knew how long she really thought the excavation would take he would order her out of his house immediately. That would be very inconvenient for her. He had made it abundantly clear he did not want her under his roof for long, and her digging was going to be longer than he would like. When his stepmother left, which she anticipated would be before she was finished, she would have to relocate. And that would be the least evil.
‘Many months.’ She sighed. ‘Or possibly even years. It is very hard to gauge.’
‘That is a long time. You did not tell me that.’
Sir Hugo’s deep voice startled her. She had been thinking so hard about her dilemma she had not realised Sir Hugo had come up beside her.
Annabell shrugged, trying doggedly to ignore the jump in her pulse. Cinnamon and cloves engulfed her. He smelled good enough to eat. The image that provoked made her face flame.
When she spoke her voice was rough. ‘I…I didn’t think it mattered. And, as I said, I could not give you a definite time. It just depends on what we find. And how thoroughly we excavate, and a host of other things I can’t begin to see at this stage.’
‘Mama!’ a light-pitched voice yelled.
‘Hugo!’
All three adults turned simultaneously. Relief flooded Annabell. For the moment she would be off the hot seat.
She watched with pleasure as two whirlwinds swept into the room and launched themselves at Lady Fitzsimmon and Sir Hugo. Naturally, the girl went for Sir Hugo. Annabell could understand perfectly.
‘Easy, or you will knock me down.’ He caught the bundle of white muslin skirts and guinea-gold hair and swung the girl into the air. ‘You just saw me this afternoon, Rosalie. Why all this excitement?’
The girl giggled. ‘Because I missed you. You were gone to the Continent for ever so long.’
Sir Hugo set her gently on her feet. ‘Yes, I was. Too long. I missed you and Joseph, but the Duke of Wellington needed my help.’
He said it so solemnly that it took Annabell a minute to realise he was teasing about his importance to Wellington. Although from the way he continued to hold the child’s hand, she knew he meant what he said about missing her.
The boy’s eyes turned wide as saucers, and he wiggled out of his mother’s hug and rushed to Sir Hugo. ‘Jolly well done, Hugo. To be important to Wellington.’
Sir Hugo smiled and put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. ‘Actually he had plenty of help. I left early. Many are still with him.’
‘Ah, you were teasing us,’ the girl said.
The boy frowned. ‘I thought you were serious, Hugo. I am quite old enough that you should not tease me about important things like Wellington and Waterloo. I know we defeated Napoleon and kept him from conquering the world.’
Sir Hugo’s face turned solemn, even the gleam disappeared from his eyes. ‘You are right, Joseph. I should not talk down to you. I won’t in the future.’
‘Thank you, Hugo.’
Joseph’s smile lit his face and accentuated the trail of freckles that started at the outer corner of one cheek and marched across his snubbed nose to the corner of the other cheek. He had the former Baronet Fitzsimmon’s dark brown eyes and enticing mouth. Otherwise, his colouring was his momma’s.
The girl, on the other hand, had the deeper olive skin tones of Sir Hugo and his father. Her eyes were the clear violet of her mother’s, and her mouth was a sweet Cupid’s bow. She would be arresting when she was older, her snub nose and light dusting of freckles only adding to her appeal.
‘Joseph, Rosalie, you need to meet Hugo’s guest.’ Both children immediately quietened and turned to face Annabell. ‘Rosalie, Joseph, this is Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’
The girl curtsied and the young man bowed. Both looked serious and curious all at once.
‘How do you do?’ Joseph said, obviously hoping she would treat him as the adult he considered himself to be.
Annabell smiled. ‘I am pleased to meet both of you.’
She saw some of the tension leave the boy’s shoulders at her formal reply. The girl cocked her head to one side and smiled widely.
‘You are very tall,’ Rosalie said.
‘Rosalie!’ Lady Fitzsimmon groaned in gentle exasperation. ‘Children. No matter how you try to drum manners into them, they will leave them behind.’
Annabell chuckled. ‘No matter, Lady Fitzsimmon. I was much worse at their ages.’
‘Really?’
‘Somehow I find that not surprising,’ Sir Hugo drawled in a dry tone.
She shot him a minatory look before focusing back on the children. ‘I was the despair of my poor mother. But I believe all children are that way, usually through no fault of their own.’
‘How interesting,’ Sir Hugo said, ruffling Rosalie’s fine hair so that wisps escaped out from its braid. ‘I dare say most parents are not so sanguine.’
Annabell laughed. ‘Neither were mine. I spent plenty of time in the nursery with no dinner. But then, so did my brothers, so it was not at all bad.’ She winked at the children. ‘The nursery maid would sneak us up food.’
‘Well, enough of this before they decide to emulate you,’ Lady Fitzsimmon said, a laugh in her voice. ‘Miss Childs is come to take them up to supper and bed.’
The governess moved shyly into the room. She was of medium height with a pleasing figure and dressed demurely in grey wool. Her hair was light brown with gold highlights, and her nose was a trifle long. But her eyes were striking. They were grey with long straight lashes that made them appear to droop at the outer corners, giving her an exotic, sultry look. But she did not move like a siren, she moved like a young woman out of her depth.
Annabell smiled at the governess and noticed Sir Hugo did the same. Instantly, to her shame, jealousy tightened her stomach. This was awful, this envy of a woman she didn’t even know simply because Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon smiled at her. This was not like her, nor did she like this reaction. She made her smile wider in an effort to compensate for her thoughts.
‘You must come back and join us for dinner,’ Sir Hugo said.
‘Yes, Melissa,’ Lady Fitzsimmon added. ‘We would enjoy having you.’ She smiled. ‘And I am sure the sound of adult conversation would be welcomed.’
‘Mama,’ protested Joseph.
His mother smiled down at him. ‘Joseph, I know you are maturing, but you are not a man yet. Just as Rosalie is still a young girl. Melissa should mingle with adults, if for no other reason than to have a reprieve from your demands.’
Before the children could protest again or Melissa accept the invitation, Miss Pennyworth arrived with Mr Tatterly in tow. Both smiled and were introduced to the governess and children.
‘Remember,’ Lady Fitzsimmon said to the governess, ‘I expect you back shortly.’
Hugo smiled. ‘We will hold dinner
until you return.’
Miss Childs blushed, but looked pleased with the invitation and the attention. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she murmured before shooing the children from the room.
‘What a delightful young woman,’ Susan Pennyworth said. ‘She must be wonderful with your children, Lady Fitzsimmon. Why, I remember when I was a governess in India. Hot, nasty climate, but I enjoyed the children.’ She caught Annabell’s raised brow. ‘All but the last. She was the devil in child’s form. Fortunately for me, Annabell rescued me and I have never looked back.’
Everyone politely listened, but Annabell noticed a sardonic curve to Sir Hugo’s mouth. She frowned at him. Even when Susan made perfect sense, he chose to see her as frivolous.
Thankfully for her increasing temper, Miss Childs returned quickly and Lady Fitzsimmon led them into dinner. Now, if only they would eat as quickly and she could retire.
Chapter Five
Annabell watched Sir Hugo dance around the music-room floor with the governess, Miss Melissa Childs, and wondered why she was not enjoying herself. Probably because she had wished to escape to her room after dinner, but had been put to the blush when she had suggested it. Now she was here against her will, but a guest often did things she did not wish.
She knew for a surety that her discomfort was not caused by Sir Hugo smiling at something Miss Childs was saying. In order to reaffirm her conviction, she looked at the other people in the room.
Lady Fitzsimmon sat at the pianoforte, playing a lively country tune. Susan blushed and tittered as Mr Tatterly carefully swung her around, mindful not to step on her feet. The servants had rolled back the Aubusson rug so that the highly polished oak planks provided more than enough room.
There! She knew she did not have to watch Sir Hugo. She was perfectly happy watching everyone else.
The music came to a rousing finish and Annabell clapped, glad of another diversion. ‘You play very well, Lady Fitzsimmon.’
Lady Fitzsimmon laughed. ‘Please, call me Juliet. If we are to spend the next couple of weeks—or more—together, let us not stand on formality.’