Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows #2)

Chapter Thirteen

“ F en, I saw Brandon on Monday. He was with Anthony Townsend,” Caroline, Lady Beaumont said from her seat near the fire. “You didn't tell us he was in Town.”

“Anthony? I mean, Mr. Townsend,” Fenella stammered, color stinging her cheeks. She avoided the lovely brunette's questioning stare by pretending vast and unlikely interest in a plate of cucumber sandwiches. The three dashing widows met for afternoon tea in Helena, Countess of Crewe's luxurious drawing room in Berkeley Square.

“No,” Caro said on a rising note. “Not… Anthony. Brandon. Shouldn't he be in school?”

“Um,” Fenella said from beside the tea tray, completely caught out. She'd kept the events of those overwhelming days over a week ago to herself. She was so muddled and troubled that putting her tumultuous emotions into words was completely beyond her. Miraculously in her gossip-ridden world, news of her midnight flight from London hadn't spread. She thanked her loyal staff for that.

Helena turned from staring out into the rain. Tall, slender and black-haired, she was the pattern of elegance in her bronze afternoon gown. “ Anthony? ”

Fenella squirmed. Helena's curiosity was as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. “I didn't know you were acquainted with Mr. Townsend, Caro.”

Caro's dark blue eyes were alight with unholy interest. “When apparently you two are on first name terms.”

“I… Brand's friends with Mr. Townsend's nephew.”

“That must be the other boy I saw. They were playing cricket in Hyde Park,” Caro said.

Despite herself, Fenella smiled. Whatever else resulted from their adventure, it seemed Anthony had worked out how he and his orphaned charge would deal together.

“Do you know Anthony Townsend, Helena?” Caro asked.

Helena's gimlet dark gaze didn't waver from Fenella. “No, but I've got a feeling I will before too much longer.”

“He's frightfully clever and rich as Croesus. Silas and he do business together, so he came to dinner last summer. Interesting man, terrifyingly dynamic, and built like a battleship. But something of a rough diamond, I'd have said. All owts and nowts and thees and thous. I had to check to see he wasn't wearing hobnail boots.”

“That's not fair,” Fenella said hotly. "Rather you should admire a man who's made his way with such spectacular success purely on his own merits.”

“Should she indeed?” Helena said archly, as Fenella realized that like a fool she'd played straight into Caro's game.

“She…she should,” Fenella said, struggling to escape confiding what had happened between her and Anthony. She'd lay no money on her success. Now Caro and Hel scented scandal, they wouldn't leave her alone this side of Christmas. She'd been an idiot not to realize how closely her world rubbed shoulders with his.

With a laugh, Caro set down her cup. “Oh, give up, Fen. You're the world's worst liar. It's one of your greatest charms. You've been acting jumpy as a cat on a stove for days. I worried that you were coming down with something. You've been looking quite bilious.”

“Bilious,” Fenella said flatly.

“Yes,” Helena said. “It's put us off our petits fours.”

“Whereas instead you've come down with a case of the mysterious and wildly attractive Mr. Townsend,” Caro said. “So stop torturing us and tell all.”

Distressed, Fenella regarded her two fellow dashing widows.

For days, she'd hardly slept, and when she had, she'd suffered dark and tormenting dreams where Henry became Anthony, and Anthony became Henry. Just this morning, she'd stirred before dawn to realize with horror that she couldn't picture Henry's face. Sobbing, she'd fumbled to light a candle, then grabbed his miniature that she kept beside her bed. She decided this couldn't go on. She wanted her peace back. However lonely. However dull. She'd begged Henry's forgiveness and decided to write to Anthony, refusing his proposal.

But now, hearing Anthony's name spoken spiked an invincible tide of longing. The thought of never seeing him again was unbearable.

She felt nauseous with indecision. No wonder Caro had remarked on her sickly appearance.

“Fen?” This time Helena's voice wasn't sly with knowledge, but edged with sincere concern. “Are you all right?”

“I…” she began, intending to lie her way out of this, no matter how ineptly. Then the worried affection in her friends' eyes defeated her shabby attempts at bravado. “No. No, I'm not all right.”

Then to her utter mortification, she burst into tears.

“Oh, Fen, I'm so sorry,” Caro wailed, rushing over to sit beside her and put her arm around her. “I'm a great blundering fool. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked. If that brute has hurt you, I'll set the dogs on him.”

“You don't have any dogs,” Fenella blubbered through the hands she'd placed over her streaming eyes. “And he's not a brute. In fact, he's…he's rather wonderful.”

“Is he?” Helena asked drily, approaching to pass her a handkerchief.

“Yes, yes, he is,” Fenella said, gratefully seizing the lacy square and blowing her nose. "Oh, this is just stupid. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

She raised her head in time to catch a meaningful glance between her friends.

“Don't you?” Helena asked.

“Tell us everything. You'll feel better if you do,” Caro said.

“I doubt it,v Fenella said, blowing her nose again.

“Try,” Helena said.

“You surely can't feel much worse,” Caro said. “And you know we're dying of curiosity.”

“Caro,” Helena said reprovingly.

Her lovely friend shrugged her slender shoulders. “Well, we'll feel better if she talks, even if Fen doesn't.”

Despite her wretchedness, Fenella gave a broken laugh. “You make my need for a little privacy sound positively selfish.”

“Keeping everything to yourself obviously doesn't make you happy,” Helena said.

Fenella twisted the damp handkerchief between her shaking hands. “I thought you were on my side.”

“As always, I'm on the side of scientific truth,” Helena said loftily.

Somehow that remark had Fenella pouring out the whole story, only faltering into silence when she and Anthony arrived at the Rainbow and Angel.

“Then he said…” That discomfiting blush rose again. “Well, you can see why I'm in a complete mess.”

“Not fair, Fen,” Caroline protested. “You can't stop there.”

Helena cast Caro a repressive look. “Leave the poor woman a scrap of dignity, you dreadful creature. We can imagine what happened.” Then spoiled her defense by asking, “So did you enjoy it?”

To her surprise, Fenella answered with complete honesty. “It was earth-shattering.”

“Good Lord,” Helena murmured, looking gratifyingly envious. “Aren't you lucky?”

Caro didn't say anything, but Fenella glimpsed a faint knowing smile. For the last six months, Caro and Helena's brother Silas, Lord Stone, had conducted a discreet affair. Undoubtedly she was familiar with how passion could turn the act of love into a transcendent experience.

“Then he asked me to marry him…”

“Hold on. He proposed after only two days?” Helena said in shock. “He must have fallen in love at first sight. How romantic.”

“I told you—when we met, he wanted to strangle me. And love has nothing to do with this.”

“Don't be a fool, Fen,” Caro said. “You're head over heels, and by the sound of it, so is Mr. Townsend.”

Aghast, Fenella stared at her. “You're wrong. I've been in love. It wasn't like this. It was bright and kind and joyful—and easy.”

“Fen, I'm no expert on love. After all, I imagined I was in love with that toad Crewe,” Helena said, making rare reference to her late, unlamented husband. “But I'm fairly sure it comes in many guises. You won't love Anthony Townsend the same way you loved Henry.”

“ Love Henry,” Fenella said sharply, shying away from the guilt and betrayal infesting her soul since she'd succumbed to sin and bedded Anthony.

Caro observed her with a compassionate understanding, new since she'd fallen in love with Silas. “That's what's behind your unhappiness, isn't it?”

Fenella's fists closed on her knees. “How can I love someone else when I still love Henry? How can I be so fickle that my heart changed within two days?”

“What did you say?” Helena asked.

“What?” Fenella asked, frowning.

“What did you say when Mr. Townsend asked you to marry him?” Helena said patiently.

“I told him to leave me alone while I think about it,” she said in dejection.

“While you come up with reasons to say no, you mean.” Caro caught Fenella's hand and spoke with heartfelt urgency. “Listen to me, Fenella Deerham, and listen well. There's something I need to say.”

Fenella snatched her hand away and regarded her friend almost with dislike. “Your advice isn't reliable. You're in love. Of course you want me to dive in headfirst.”

Caro's mouth turned down, and briefly she looked like the dissatisfied, unhappy woman Fenella had first met two years ago. “Nobody knows better than you that life is unfair and joy can be fleeting. You've been offered a chance for new happiness. I hate to think fear is stopping you from taking it.”

“I don't know why you're in Mr. Townsend's corner,” Fenella said sourly. “You hardly know him.”

“If he got you into bed, he's obviously a remarkable man. You've had London on its knees since Hel and I dragged you back into society, kicking and screaming and saying you didn't want to play. And you haven't cared a whit for the admiration. Men fall at your feet, and all you do is smile coolly and go on your merry way, safely locked away from life. If Anthony Townsend has made you cry your eyes out, he's special.”

“That's unfair,” Fenella said, nettled. “You make me sound so cold.”

“Not cold, unaware.”

She surged to her feet and stared furiously down at Caro. “You're a great one to talk about taking chances on love. You love Silas with all your heart, yet you won't marry him. He wants more from you than a hole in the corner liaison—he deserves more. But you won't see past your miserable marriage to know you've got a good man and you're doing him a vile injustice.”

Caro paled under her attack. “Silas and I have an understanding.”

“No, you haven't. But he's so much in love, he's willing to take what you'll give him, rather than nothing. You're starving him to death, and the worst part is you can't see it. You, Caroline Beaumont, are in no position to lecture me about being brave.”

“Fen…” Helena said warningly.

Parker, Helena's butler, cleared his throat in the doorway. “Lord Stone has called, my lady.”

An energetic, long-limbed man with untidy tawny hair strode into the room. Raindrops glittered on his shoulders, proof the weather hadn't improved. “For God's sake, Parker, this is my house, even if I don't damn well live here. There's no need to announce me.”

“My dear brother, polite as ever, I see,” Helena said, as Parker left after a bow that expressed long-suffering tolerance.

“Good evening, sis.” Silas kissed Helena on the cheek, then glanced across the room. “Good evening, Fenella. Caro, we're engaged for the theatre tonight, or had you forgotten? I've been cooling my heels in Grosvenor Square waiting for you to come home, and eventually thought I'd better come looking for you. I should have known you'd still be gossiping with the coven.”

With a shock, Fenella realized that afternoon had flowed into night. As if to confirm that, the ormolu clock on the mantel chimed seven. The cloudy day meant Helena had ordered candles when her guests arrived.

“Polite and charming,” Caro said, but rose to kiss Silas on the lips. In public, the couple behaved—mostly—within the bounds of propriety. But here with family and close friends, they made no secret of their liaison.

“Of course, Fenella isn't a witch.” He smiled down at her, then the laughter left his voice. “Fen, you've been crying. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barged in.”

She shook her head and spoke through agonizing embarrassment. Could this day get any more humiliating? “No, I'm glad you're here. Caro and I were about to come to blows.”

“A dashed useful umpire, that's me,” he said, but his touch was gentle when he kissed her cheek and drew her down to sit beside him.

“Would you like tea?” Helena asked, turning to the tray. “I can ask for some more.”

Silas looked disgusted. “Tea, at this hour? You'll get me thrown out of my clubs.”

“Brandy, then?”

His eyes met Caro's, and the silent communication between them pierced Fenella with longing. She and Anthony had shared a similar bond. Or at least started to.

Silas didn't mention the theatre again, but relaxed on the sofa, stretching out his long legs in their black trousers. “A small one. I haven't dined yet.”

Fenella expected he and Caro had romantic plans for an intimate meal after the play, then a night of making love. She shifted subtly on the chair as she recalled Anthony's big, virile body pounding into her. Since leaving him, she hadn't only suffered emotionally. That night at the Rainbow and Angel had reminded her how much she'd missed the physical side of marriage.

“So are you going to tell me why you could cut the atmosphere with a knife when I came in?” Silas asked with deceptive laziness.

“What do you know about Anthony Townsend?” Helena asked.

“Helena, for pity's sake!” Fenella snapped.

Silas's disconcertingly intelligent hazel eyes settled on her. “Ah.”

Fenella's cheeks burned again. Silas's ahs could speak volumes. “Brandon is great friends with his nephew.”

“His brother's son? That was a horrible tragedy when William and his wife were lost at sea. The lad's lucky to have a steadfast fellow like Townsend to turn to.”

“So you like him?” Caro asked.

“Yes, I do. Very much. Capable chap. More than capable. Brilliant. Came in to rescue the government from fiscal disaster last year. Word is there's a peerage in the offing from a grateful nation.”

Caro sent Fenella a significant look before she returned to quizzing Silas. “But what about his character? Would you trust him?”

Silas's expressive brows rose. “What's all this sudden interest in Anthony Townsend? Are you planning to throw me over for a richer prize, my love?”

“He probably doesn't tease,” Caro retorted.

“Yes, he does,” Fenella said, then wanted to kick herself.

Silas studied her like one of the botanical specimens in his greenhouse. “He's a fine man. I can't think of a better. Even if his manners aren't the most polished.”

This time, Fenella restrained her response.

After a thoughtful pause, Silas said softly, “But I doubt whether my liking has any bearing on the matter. The question is whether Fenella likes him.”

“If you were any sharper, Silas Nash, you'd cut yourself,” she muttered.

He laughed and picked up her hand to place a casual kiss on her knuckles. “There I have my answer.”

“Silas, I had an interesting chat about you the other day,” Helena said, offering Fenella a reprieve. Now that attention focused on someone else, Fenella dragged in a relieved breath.

“Oh?” Silas said, accepting a crystal glass from his sister and raising it to his lips. “What the devil mischief have I been up to now?”

Helena didn't smile, but ranged herself in front of the fire with a curiously belligerent stance. “The pertinent issue is what you haven't been up to—or what you won't get up to, rather.”

“I'm all ears,” he said idly. Caro shifted to stand behind the sofa and rest her hand on his shoulder. Fenella had long noticed that the two lovers could hardly bear to be in the same room without touching. They'd come together at the end of last season, so few people knew about their affair. But she couldn't imagine the secret surviving once the annual round of balls and parties began in the spring. “Who's been spreading wicked tales?”

“I ran into Mr. Browning at Kew Gardens.”

A resonant silence fell, the significance of which only Silas and Helena seemed to understand.

“Ah.”

Fenella was close enough to feel his tension.

Helena's gaze sharpened on his face. "He said he'd invited you on the camellia collecting expedition to China next year, but you'd said no.”

For once, there was no hint of humor in Silas's face. "London offers too much entertainment for me to forsake it at present.”

“Really, Silas? That's hard to believe. Ever since you were a boy, you've talked about hunting new plants in the East and how you'd devote your life to exploration and discovery.”

“Well, priorities change when one grows up,” he said with unaccustomed brusqueness. "My colleagues at the Horticultural Society will have to manage without me while they grub around beside the Yellow River for pretty little flowers. I find this subject tedious in the extreme. Let's go back to interrogating Fenella about her new beau.”

“No, please,” Fenella said fervently.

“Silas, do you really want to go?” Caro moved around the sofa until she could see his face.

“I don't want to leave you, my darling.” He smiled, but Fenella saw it was an effort. “It's no sacrifice to stay.”

“But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Caro said urgently.

“It's a pity they don't take ladies on scientific expeditions,” Fenella said.

Helena's lips curled in a sardonic smile as she continued to study her brother. “But this expedition is different. It's a diplomatic mission as much as a plant hunt. Mr. Browning is taking his wife. So are Sir Richard Bentley and Lord Parrish.”

Caro brightened. “Silas, you know I've longed to travel. Perhaps we could…”

His expression closed, and he suddenly looked much older than the lighthearted man Fenella thought she knew. “I've said I won't go, Caro. If you like, I'll take you to Italy after Christmas. That will placate your yen for adventure.”

Caro stared at him with dismay. “Ladies can go, but only if they're wives. You're not taking up this wonderful chance to see China because you can't take your mistress.” She stopped, her mind clearly making connections. “Of course you can't. If it's officially sanctioned, you'd create an international scandal if you turned up with your doxy in tow.”

Fenella's protesting “Caro” clashed with Silas's savage “You're not my doxy.”

He leaped to his feet. “If you don't mind, this isn't a discussion I want to have before witnesses.” He shot his sister a savage glare that made Fenella wince in sympathy. “Congratulations, Hel. You wanted to cause trouble and you've succeeded.”

Helena remained stalwart under his blistering anger. “You know, Silas, if you and Caro married, you could be off to Peking tomorrow, and nobody would raise an eyebrow.”

“Marriage isn't for us,” he said in a stilted voice, although his eyes continued to threaten murder.

Helena clicked her tongue with disapproval. “For shame, to trifle with a lady's feelings and reputation.”

vHelena…” he said on a growl of warning.

Caro straightened, her face drawn with misery. “It's my fault we're not married. You all know that. I swore I'd never take another husband.”

Helena made an impatient noise. “Why on earth not? Freddie was undoubtedly a blockhead. So what? You and my brother are in love, and my brother isn't a blockhead—most of the time.”

“Thank you, dear sister,” he bit out.

She sighed. “Well, it's stupid. Just because Caro's a coward, you're going to miss out on fulfilling a dream. Even more asinine, it's Caro's dream, too. She always said she wanted to see the world and break out of her old, stale, dull life. A trip to China does that in spades.”

Silas extended his hand to Caro. “Come, my love. I'll take you home.”

Caro didn't shift, and Fenella who knew her so well, read the battle going on inside her. It was a battle she understood much better since she'd met Anthony and discovered she, too, was trapped between the past and a beckoning, risky future.

“Helena's right, you know,” Caro said slowly.

“Why would I want China when I have you?” Silas asked with a fair approximation of his usual good nature.

Caro squared her shoulders and looked directly at the man she loved. Her jaw was set in an obstinate line, and her hands clenched at her sides. But Fenella saw the terror shining in her eyes. “You could have both.”

Her offer didn't noticeably cheer him up. He ran his hand through his hair and looked grimly at Caro. “I promised I wouldn't pressure you about marriage.”

“I know.” She paused, then spoke in a hurry. “But asking me to marry you after six blissful months doesn't count as pressure.”

Silas took a couple of moments to examine what she said, then such naked joy filled his face that fresh tears sprang to Fenella's eyes. Not altogether with happiness for her friends. Caro's courage threw her own lack of daring into stark relief.

“Do you mean it, sweetheart?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Caro's laugh cracked with emotion, but her reply rang with confidence. “Yes, I do.”

Silas caught her hand and stared into her eyes. “Caroline Beaumont, the love of my life, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”

Caro’s smile matched his in elation. She lifted one hand to touch his face with such tenderness that it set Fenella's lonely heart aching anew. “Seeing you asked so nicely, my beloved Lord Stone, I just have to say yes.”

“Oh, my love,” he said in a broken voice and hauled her into his arms for a fervent kiss that paid no heed to their audience.

“At last,” Helena said, looking justifiably smug. “I'll ring for champagne.”