Wanton Widows: Three Short Regency Romps Read Free

my lady.” He performed a sweeping bow.
    “Really, sir?” She eyed him with speculation.
She had been more than pleasantly surprised by his expertise and was tempted.
“I’ll let you know if your services are required.” She turned to leave.
    “Allow me to escort you back to the ballroom,
Lady Caroline.”
    She turned back to laugh at him. “You might
wish to dress before you do so.” She smiled as she surveyed his physique. Oh
yes, she had chosen well.
    He pulled his shirt over his head and put on
the waistcoat and coat. His cravat took several attempts to re-tie, but he
couldn’t reinstate its earlier perfection. She batted his hands away and pushed
his chin high, so her fingers could tie and arrange the linen cloth unhampered
by his interference.
    “A useful skill,” he commented. “Thank you.”
    “Nine years of practice on my husband, of
course.”
    “And are you looking for another husband to
replace the faulty one?”
    “Not unless I can guarantee he’s fit and able
in every way.”
    He laughed. “Are you going to sample every
potential husband that you meet?”
    She flicked a cheeky look at him. “Not every
one … only the short-listed ones.”
    “You have a novel approach to courtship.” His
smile was wry.
    “Well, the usual one wasn’t successful, so it
seemed sensible to try another way. I don’t think you have suffered by it, and
you’re not even in the running, as I know you’re married and altar-shy.”
    He strode to the door, reefed it open and
walked briskly towards the stairs.
    Stunned, Caroline demanded, “Where are you
going?”
    His voice carried up from the stairwell. “To get
a divorce. Don’t sample any more candidates while I’m gone.”

The Widow’s Wedding Night
    By Isabella Hargreaves
    Arabella Linfield looked out the window of the
carriage as it swayed to a halt in front the Grosvenor Square mansion of
Jerome, Earl Linfield.
    The Earl opened the door and jumped onto the
footpath, then turned to assist her.
    “Welcome to your new home, my dear.” His
handsome face was lit by a broad grin and framed by his curly brown hair.
    She smiled up at him. “I can’t wait to be
alone with you at last.” They had been married for eight short hours. She
wanted him. Her parents had made the wedding reception beautiful but it had lasted
too long and now it was well into the evening.
    This was her second marriage. Her beloved
William had died at Waterloo three years ago. They had been married only six
months – hardly time to get to know one another and share their love, but
enough time to have missed him ever since. Afterwards she had returned to her
parents’ home.
    The front door of the mansion opened and the
butler greeted his master. Jerome scooped Arabella into his arms. She laughed
in surprise. Happiness effervesced through her.
    He set her down and introduced the long line
of waiting servants. Before they could ascend the stairs, his man of business
requested a few minutes of his time and Jerome ordered the housekeeper to show
Arabella to her bedchamber in the master suite.
     
    Arabella looked around the imposing space with
its four poster bed, its own fireplace, dainty yellow wallpaper and deep, thick
carpet. It was luxurious. She noticed the ornate doorway on her right, which
must lead to her husband’s room.
    Footmen carrying her baggage followed her into
the room, quickly depositing their loads and leaving with the housekeeper, who
bobbed a quick curtsy as she departed. Mary, her maid, began unpacking
Arabella’s clothing and laid out her new nightgown. It wasn’t virtuous white or
unimaginative cream. It was red – uninhibited red – and silk. Her mother had
protested when she ordered it, but if petticoats could be red, then why not
nightgowns?
    Arabella washed and changed into her glamorous
night-rail then sat patiently as Mary brushed out her hair into long waves.
Afterwards she dismissed her maid, telling her she wouldn’t be needed for the
remainder of