The Waltzing Widow Read Free

Wasn't William's last letter from Brussels?"
    Lady Mary smiled at her daughter. There was a twinkle in her gray eyes. “Why, I do believe that it was, Abigail. A fine coincidence, certainly."
    Abigail giggled. “You are the most complete hand, Mama.'’ She sighed. “I shall enjoy seeing William again, I confess. I have sorely missed him these last months."
    "As have I,” Lady Mary said.
    Abigail sent a saucy glance at her mother. “Besides, what is the use of having an older brother if he is not available to introduce one to his rakish friends?"
    "Abigail,” Lady Mary said in a warning tone; but she smiled even as she spoke, aware that she was being teased. Abigail laughed again. She skipped out the door, humming happily. Lady Mary shook her head in affectionate exasperation before turning her attention to her correspondence.
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Chapter 2
    The letter to her friend Emily Downing went swiftly and crossed several pages. She sanded the sheets and folded them into an envelope that she addressed in her firm clear hand, sealing the missive with hot wax. Lady Mary sighed as she pulled a fresh sheet of vellum to her. The letter to her parents, Viscount and Viscountess Catlin, would be more difficult to compose. She sat chewing the nib of her quill pen, forming and discarding a dozen openings. Finally, when she had decided on the best approach, she discovered to her irritation that she had completely frayed the tip of her pen, and she had to sharpen it with a small penknife before she could begin writing.
    Dipping the newly sharpened point of her quill into the inkwell. Lady Mary took a breath and started upon the letter. It was always difficult to communicate with her parents, for the sole reason that whatever she wished to convey was invariably rejected as errant nonsense.
    Viscount Catlin still clung to his obstinate position that the independent and respectable widow was the same lavishly spoiled and petted daughter that had grown up in his house. As for the viscountess, she cherished the fond notion that her outrageously wayward daughter must one day yet take her rightful place at the forefront of society. But by her very character, Lady Mary violated every conception that her parents held of the ideal dutiful and dependent daughter.
    Lady Mary caught herself sighing again. She knew that the news that she and Abigail would not be going up to London for the Season after all would excite strenuous protests from her parents. She thought with a flash of humor that she would not require the return post to know of her letter's reception; she would be bound to be able to hear the repercussions on the very air.
    She finished the difficult letter, sanded it, and readied it for posting. Rising from the desk with the two letters in her hand, Lady Mary went out of the sitting room. The footman immediately inquired her wishes and she gave him the envelopes with instructions to post them. Then she asked, “Is Miss Abigail in the drawing room, John?"
    "Yes, my lady. Tea is being brought round this moment,” the footman said.
    "Thank you, John,” Lady Mary said. She walked to the drawing-room door, which was partially open. Hearing the murmur of voices, she paused with her fingers on the panel, disconcerted. She had not known that her daughter was entertaining a guest.
    A young gentleman in desperate tones said, “I swear to you, Abigail, I shall do it. I shall join the army if you will not."
    Abigail's high clear voice sounded irritated. “Pray do not be so absurd, Colin! I cannot possibly marry you. Do, do get up! Tea will be brought in at any moment and it will be all so embarrassing."
    Lady Mary closed her eyes for a second of resignation. Then she pushed open the door, saying brightly as she did so, “Abigail, I have just recalled—” She had the briefest impression of a red-faced young gentleman scrambling up from his knees and her daughter snatching back her hands from the inopportune suitor's