Tempted By a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #21)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

London, England, December 1817

“I will not be joining you in Kent,” Lady Lavinia Stewart, Marchioness of Teviot, a widow, announced from the center of the grand staircase. Her younger sisters and brother stopped in the process of putting on their winter outer clothing and gaped at her from the entry. The four of them had just spent days traveling from Clarington Abbey, their home in Westmorland, and had stopped in London to sleep in their townhouse for two nights before continuing to their destination to spend the Christmas holiday with their family.

“What do you mean?” Augustus demanded as if he had authority over her. He may be the only male in their company but he was also five years younger and Lavinia made her own decisions.

“Exactly what I said,” she answered. “I intend to spend the holiday very much alone.”

“But it is Christmas,” Sabina, the youngest of her sisters, reminded Lavinia.

“I am well aware, but that should not require my presence.”

Aurora, the next to the youngest, stared at her. “Everyone will be there. Everyone! It promises to be a grand celebration and house party.”

“A house party that includes our siblings as well as the family our sister married into,” Sabina cried as if she could not imagine missing such a celebration. “Even our aunts, Ladies Priscilla, Joanna and Esther will be present. Certainly, you wish to see them.”

“I would like very much to visit with them,” Lavinia admitted. “However, I can do so at any time and since there will be so many people underfoot it is unlikely there will be an opportunity to have a quiet conversation.”

“Please, Lavinia,” Sabina begged. “We need you there.”

“You will do fine without me.”

“Yes, but…”

Lavinia held up her hand to stop Augustus from voicing whatever objection he wished to impart. He was likely afraid that he’d be put in charge to make certain that his younger sisters did not get up to mischief, thus ruining what enjoyments he may have planned for himself and Lavinia simply did not care. “I want to spend a quiet Christmas by myself. Now go so that you arrive at Sessile Court in time for the holiday festivities.” She then turned and marched back up the stairs to make it clear that she would no longer discuss the matter. Lavinia only stopped when she was out of sight and listened to make certain that her younger siblings did leave and continued their journey. When she finally heard the front door open and close, Lavinia stepped to a window and peeked out through the crimson curtains and observed while Augustus held the carriage door for Aurora and Sabina. Each looked back at the house with concern before they entered the carriage and then they were gone.

Finally, she was alone. Well, except for the servants who huddled and worried. As she would be remaining in London, they probably feared that their Christmas holiday, one that they likely hoped to enjoy with their families, might be ruined. That certainly was not her intention, especially since she was quite capable of taking care of herself.

Her decision to spend Christmas alone had not been made suddenly. The idea had simply occurred to her as they began their journey from their home in Westmorland and, at first, she dismissed such a possibility but with each turn of the carriage wheels the need to be alone grew until Lavinia had been quite settled on her decision by the time they arrived in London. After all, she had been discontent for months and did not want to be part of a large family gathering and pretend to be happy when she was not.

She was not certain what she wanted, but it was not to be bound to yet another husband until one of them kicked up their toes. Such made for a long, unpleasant and tedious life.

Besides, she had already done her duty. Well, except, there had been no children, and now she was a widow, rejected by her husband’s family and returned home for her brother to support. Her responsibility was now guiding and chaperoning her younger sisters and overseeing Leopold’s household because he had not yet bothered to marry. She also had been acting part secretary and household steward because her brother had sacked the incumbents for embezzling funds. As Leopold no longer trusted anyone, he was happy to have Lavinia fill these positions. The only person he trusted to consult with and arrange contracts and such was the family solicitor, Mr. Demetrius Valentine.

It was really a shame that Valentine was such a rake and of questionable moral character, for his intelligence was impressive, and she genuinely liked him

Turning from the window, Lavinia gathered her pelisse and bonnet, then requested the small carriage that Leopold kept in London be brought around so that she could visit Matron Manor. Mrs. Blythe Clay, a widow who recently joined the Wicked Widows’ League, was expecting her for tea, not that anyone knew there was such a league. Further, Lavinia certainly was not wicked but she was glad to have found friendship and to be part of a group of women who were widows such as she.

“I thought you were traveling to visit family for Christmas,” Blythe said after they had settled into the parlor of Matron Manor and had tea delivered.

“I changed my mind and sent the others on without me.”

Blythe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

Lavinia sighed. “I am simply dissatisfied with my life. I want something else, or more, but as I do not know what that is, I am not certain what to do. I only know that the answer cannot be found while surrounded by family so I took the opportunity to be away from them when they are least likely to need my presence.”

“Have you considered remarrying?”

“Heavens, no!” Lavinia answered emphatically and without even pausing to consider the question. “I had a husband and I do not want another. Further, I already run a household and supervise my younger siblings so marriage would change nothing except I would have a duty to perform that I thankfully no longer need to endure.”

Blythe frowned and tilted her head. “What duty would that be?”

Lavinia’s face heated, but if she could not be honest with Blythe and within the walls of Matron Manor, then who could she confide in? “The duty that often brings about an heir.”

Her friend straightened as her dark eyebrows rose above wide eyes. “The marriage bed. That is the duty you object to?”

It was involuntary, but Lavinia still shuddered. “Yes.”

Blythe frowned with concern. “You did not find it pleasant?”

“It is beyond my understanding how anyone could,” she answered. “It is…” Oh, she wished she could find the proper words.

“It pained you?” Blythe asked carefully.

“No, of course not. I simply did not find it pleasing and was glad when he was finished.”

Her friend slowly nodded though concern, or perhaps it was sadness, lingered in her eyes.

“Are you saying you did?”

“I found it most enjoyable. Well, at least in the beginning.”

“Why not later?”

“We um…drew apart.”

Lavinia suspected there was more to the matter than Blythe admitted but she would not press. If her friend wanted to confide, then Lavinia would listen, but she would not push for an explanation on such a personal matter.

“Your sister was of the same mind, was she not, but she remarried,” Elizabeth Cates, Lady Andover, reminded them as she joined Lavinia and Blythe for tea.

“I do not believe Octavia found the matter as unpleasant or she would not have sought a lover this past spring.”

“Yes, she had wanted to experience passion.” Lady Andover laughed.

“Are they not one and the same?” Lavinia asked.

Blythe sighed. “Oh, to share a grand passion that goes beyond the simple pleasures one may enjoy in physical intimacy would be quite wonderful. I was not so fortunate.”

“I do believe Octavia found just that.” Elizabeth raised a teacup as if to toast her sister.

“Yes, apparently she did,” Lavinia murmured.

“Perhaps that is what you should do,” Elizabeth offered. “Take a lover and discover passion.”

Lavinia was so startled by the proclamation that she nearly spilled her tea. “I do not believe that is the answer to my discontent.”

Though, she was rather curious. Octavia claimed that passion made all the difference in the marriage bed and Blythe just admitted that she had found mating enjoyable. She’d also heard such whispers these past two years.

Had her husband just gone about intimacy poorly? Theirs had not been a love match and maybe approaching the marriage bed as a duty did strip away what could be enjoyable.

Or maybe there was something wrong with her.

“I could never seek a lover,” Lavinia finally proclaimed.

“Why not?” Elizabeth asked.

“It just is not done. I am respectable and moral. I have a certain reputation and if anyone learned that I behaved in an improper manner it could reflect poorly on my younger sisters.”

“Have you not already sacrificed enough for your family?” Blythe asked quietly.

Lavinia didn’t view the duties to her family as a sacrifice, but a need that must be filled.

Except it was a duty.

“It is time that you take something for yourself,” Elizabeth suggested.

“Which is the very reason why I am not joining my family for Christmas. I need to do something for me. I simply do not know what that might be.”

“You are welcome to spend the Christmas holiday at Matron Manor with me and the others,” Blythe offered. “Maybe then you might find the answers that you seek.”

Matron Manor was the gathering place for those in their league. Some came for tea, as Lavinia had done. Others took rooms for a short time and it was not unusual for there to be widows in residence. It would not be surprising if there were more than a few during the Christmas holiday since some had no family. There was nothing worse than being alone at Christmas unless you did so by choice.

“I had considered the possibility but dismissed the option because I need to be further away from London.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked.

“If I am too close to our home, I am afraid that I will feel the need to return and review the books or prepare a list for the servants of tasks I would like them to see to after the first of the year, to prepare for the Season, or any other matter that requires attention. It is the same reason why I will not return to our estate.”

“Simply refuse to think of the house,” Blythe offered before she took a sip of her tea.

“I fear that it would be impossible, therefore I must visit someplace new or at least different and further away. I simply do not know where that might be.

“What of Sea View?” Elizabeth suggested.

Lavinia blinked at her. Why hadn’t she thought of that.

Yes, Sea View! It was a cottage that had once been owned by her mother’s family that sat along the beach in Seaford. Was it possible that she could go there to find the peace and answers that she sought?

Mr. Demetrius Valentine took a deep breath before he lifted the knocker of the home of Viscount Totten. This would not be his first will reading, nor would it likely be the last. However, this would be the first where he was not the solicitor reading the instructions of the deceased.

The viscount had been the first lord to engage Demetrius’ services after he became a solicitor and he had served the viscount these past ten years. Therefore, it should be Demetrius who called the family and any other beneficiaries together to inform them of the arrangements Viscount Totten had made. But before he could do so, Demetrius had received word that Totten had gone to a different solicitor to draft a new will. One that required his presence.

Totten may have been rather eccentric but he was of sound mind, so Demetrius could not help but wonder why, after ten years, he had gone to someone else.

After the butler opened the door, he stood back so that he could enter. Demetrius had been a frequent visitor and known to all within.

“They have gathered in the library,” the butler advised.

Demetrius gave a nod because he was not certain if he could speak. Emotions which were unfamiliar swept over him as soon as he stepped into the entry. Admittedly, some of that was betrayal from wondering why Totten had hired someone else, but also sadness that he was gone because Demetrius had truly been fond of the old man.

When he stepped into the library and glanced about, Demetrius realized that he did not know anyone within the room, except for the son—the new Viscount Totten. As for the rest, they were likely the names he had become familiar with while drafting the various wills for the Viscount—none of which mattered any longer. In fact, the names he knew may not belong to anyone in this room because if Totten hired a new solicitor, he may have changed everything from his earlier wills.

However, there was one other man that Demetrius did recognize, Mr. Cornelius Bottomley, also a solicitor.

“Now that you have arrived Mr. Valentine, we can begin,” Mr. Bottomley announced.

“I hope I have not delayed you overly much, though I am not certain why my presence is even required.” Demetrius offered a slight apology which may have sounded more like a complaint.

“The former Viscount Totten knew that you would not agree with his bequeaths. Therefore, three months ago he visited me for the sole purpose of drafting his last will and testament, and that is all.”

As much as Demetrius hated the emotion, he was rather hurt. Had he done something to displease the old man?

“If you would but take a seat, it will all be explained,” Mr. Bottomley announced.

Bottomley moved to stand behind the very desk where the viscount had once sat and lifted the documents.

Demetrius settled into a chair in the back of the room. It did not matter if he had approved of the bequeaths or not. The will was final and nothing could be changed.

“As I stated, this is the last will and testament of Viscount Totten, which he had me draft three months ago.” Bottomley then took a seat and began reading.

Demetrius listened as each bequeath was read, knowing that it was no different than the last will he had prepared and again wondered why he was here.

“Lastly, to Mr. Demetrius Valentine.”

Demetrius snapped his attention to Bottomley. Why was he being mentioned?

“You have served me well,” Bottomley continued to read. “I bequeath to you my cottage known as Hartshorn, as well as Maximillian and Cal.”

All Demetrius could do was stare at the solicitor. Certainly, he had not heard correctly. Hartshorn? That was a cottage located in Seaford and overlooked the channel.

Further, why, of all people, had Totten left Demetrius his dog and cat? What was he supposed to do with pets?

“He also left this letter for you.” Bottomley placed the missive on the corner of the desk. “If there are no questions, I shall take my leave.”

There were murmurs among the others in the room as Bottomley left and Demetrius was pulled toward the desk. He picked up the missive, then left without speaking to anyone. It was almost as if he were stuck in one of the evening fogs that so often cloaked London, not hearing or seeing anything, shocked, yet anxious to know what Totten had been thinking. Except, when he reached the entry, there stood a footman holding the leash of Maximillian, the sheepdog. A maid was holding Cal, the calico cat. A second footman held a crate.

“What is that?”

“Food, instructions, bedding for Max and Cal.”

He simply stared at it. What the hell was he supposed to do with a cat and a dog, he asked himself again.

The footman held out the leash and Demetrius stared at it for the longest time before accepting it. The maid then held out the cat.

Bloody hell!

He took it and cradled it with one arm and the cat immediately began purring against his chest.

He then looked at the crate and wondered how he could carry that and the cat and hold onto the dog’s leash.

“Did you bring a carriage?” the butler asked.

“No. A hackney.”

He nodded and opened the door. “We shall hail one for you.”

Numbly, Demetrius walked out of the manor, the dog by his side, cat in his arms, missive in his hand with a footman carrying a crate.

“Go with him to his home to deliver the crate then return,” the butler instructed to which the footman nodded.

“Thank you,” Demetrius mumbled.

The missive weighed heavy in his hand, but Demetrius would not read it until he was in the comfort of home, a glass of brandy in hand and, more importantly, without a footman watching.

As he tapped the folded and sealed parchment against his knee, he looked out the window, only to be pulled from his thoughts when the cat decided to pounce on the sealed missive and at the same time sank razor sharp claws into his thigh.

“Ow!” He lifted the cat and sat him on the seat beside him.

Cal seemed to then give him the cut direct with a lift of the chin before finding a place to curl up on the opposite side of the bench.

Meanwhile, Max took up the entire floor, his head resting on his boots.

“Max is usually more energetic,” Demetrius commented to the footman. “He is calm for a change.”

“He has been this way since the viscount passed away,” the footman answered quietly. “As the viscount grew ill, the end coming, Max never left his side. He has barely eaten since.”

“Dogs mourn?” Demetrius asked. “I have never had a pet.”

“Apparently, they do.”

Demetrius hated that Max was sad, but also somewhat relieved that he wouldn’t be bounding around his set of rooms breaking things.

“Cal seems to be doing well.”

“Cal is not as sensitive. It is a cat.”

“How old is Max?”

“Three years.”

“How old is Cal?”

“A year.”

As the hackney came to a halt, Demetrius was surprised to look out to find that they had arrived at his home. After paying the driver, Demetrius made his way into the building, up the first flight of stairs, turned left and entered his set of rooms, the footman following.

“Where would you like this?”

“Set it by the door,” Demetrius answered absently, then watched as it was set down and the footman left him alone, still holding a purring cat and the leash of a dog.

What the bloody hell just happened?

With a deep breath, he set the cat on the floor and removed Max’s leash then went directly to the sideboard, poured a glass of brandy, took a sip then settled behind his desk and placed the missive before him.

He recognized the neat script of Viscount Totten and wondered what words were contained within.

After taking another drink, he set the brandy aside and turned the missive over, broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Demetrius,

You began at the humblest of beginnings and rose to make something of yourself. Intelligence and hard work made you a much sought after solicitor. I have benefited from your advice over the years and I trusted you more than any gentleman of my acquaintance. You once said that if you had the means, that you would consider leaving London. I do not believe you will and London would be at a loss without you present to offer your excellent advice. However, there are times when we all must leave, if only for a holiday. You, Valentine, deserve that holiday. Therefore, I am leaving you my cottage known as Hartshorn in Seaford.

Demetrius was certain that he had misunderstood Bottomley, but apparently he had not. Totten should not have left him anything, especially a cottage. What had he been thinking?

You now understand why I had another solicitor draft my last will and testament. I know that if I would have asked you to prepare the document with such a bequeath that you would not have done so. Further, your taking something from a will that you have prepared for an old man would have been suspect and I did not want anyone to cast suspicion upon your character.

I hope you enjoy the cottage, Mr. Valentine. You deserve a place to holiday, to rest, and possibly one day settle. You claim to want to remain a bachelor and I just ask that you reconsider so that you are not lonely or alone when your time comes.

Demetrius most certainly would have objected to such a gift, but there was little he could do now, other than ignore the request to reconsider his bachelor state.

As you will likely dismiss my concerns, and so that you are not alone, I also leave you Max and Cal. Please care for them as I did.

Yours,

Harold Fulton, Viscount Totten

He stared at the missive for the longest moment, not certain what to think, when Cal jumped up on the desk and started to lap up the brandy from his glass.

Demetrius picked the cat up and dropped it on the floor then wondered if it was even safe to drink after a cat.

Erring on the side of caution, he crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a fresh drink only to be startled by the sound of glass shattering on the wood floor and Cal sitting where his brandy glass had been.

“Bloody hell!”