The Widow's Auction Read Free

to the charities ever again? They listened to her because she was Henry’s wife–a viscountess. They’d never listen to poor Isobel Smith, no matter how many deportment lessons Henry had purchased for her and how much French she knew.
    â€œSome men would tolerate your involvement with Henry’s charities. Lord Warbrooke, for example–”
    â€œDon’t even think such a thing! His lordship might have a passion for charitable causes, but I can guess the sort of wife he’d want–one better suited to a politician. He’d want me to stay at home and entertain while he did the real work.”
    â€œWell, I think you’re wrong, but it needn’t be him. Choose some other gentleman. You’ve pined after Henry long enough. He was thirty years your senior–he wouldn’t expect you to mourn him all your life. And don’t you miss the intimacies of marriage?” A faraway look crossed Phoebe’s face. “God knows I do.”
    Isobel blushed. “I don’t understand why. I suppose that the kissing can be nice, but the rest of it–” She gave an involuntary shudder. “It’s embarrassing and uncomfortable and not the least pleasant.”
    Phoebe gaped at her. “Do you mean to say. . . that is. . . from the way you spoke of Henry, I’d thought–So you find it unpleasant, eh?” She settled back against her chair with narrowed eyes. “Tell me something, Bella. When Henry. . . er. . . came to your bed, how long did he take to do his business?”
    â€œPhoebe!” She couldn’t believe her friend was even talking about this!
    â€œJust answer the question.”
    She hesitated, yet she found it curious that Phoebe would ask such a thing. Curious enough that she answered her. “I suppose. . . five minutes. Fortunately, Henry was a considerate husband, for I don’t see how a woman could endure more than that.”
    Phoebe burst into laughter. “Oh, Bella, you have no idea! Trust me, when a man does it right, you want it to last forever.”
    Isobel gazed at her friend, truly perplexed. She couldn’t imagine wanting the dreadful act to last forever. Still, hadn’t she often wondered if there were more to it? She’d heard married women giggling over their lovers and seen many a country girl go astray. And for what? If lovemaking were as awful as it had been in her experience, why did they even do it when they didn’t have to?
    She wanted to ask Phoebe to explain, yet she was almost afraid to know more and be disappointed yet again. After all the sly remarks at her and Henry’s wedding breakfast, she’d eagerly anticipated their time together, only to find it sad and awkward and painful. Perhaps it was simply her . Perhaps she was made wrong.
    â€œPhoebe?” she heard herself say. “You said, ‘when a man does it right,’ but. . . well. . . how do you know if he’s doing it right?”
    â€œWhen it makes you feel as if the heavens have rained joy all over you.”
    She’d certainly never felt that . “Perhaps some women just don’t–”
    â€œIf a woman doesn’t, it’s usually because her lover is inept. And while bumbling males do abound, you can find the competent ones if you look hard enough.” Phoebe’s voice filled with sympathy. “Have you truly never enjoyed. . . I mean. . . wasn’t there anybody besides Henry?”
    Isobel shook her head. “He’s the only man I’ve even kissed.”
    â€œThen you don’t know what you’re missing, Bella. It can be so very lovely when it’s with a man who knows what he’s doing.”
    A lump of longing caught in Isobel’s throat. She gazed down at the table. “Or perhaps I’m just. . . well, flawed somehow.” Though the thought that she’d