The Vicar's Widow

“Very well, indeed, my lord,” she said, and faltered. How to rid Montgomery of the widow now? As it was, the two of them were looking at her expectantly, as if they waited for her to announce something hugely important. “Will you be attending the May Day Ball, my lord?” she suddenly blurted.

Montgomery arched a brow in surprise above his smile. “The May Day Ball? Why, I had not thought of it, Miss Forsythe,” he said, glancing at Mrs. Becket. “I can’t say I’ve even been invited.”

“Of course you have!” Emily insisted. “Everyone has been invited!” She caught herself there and glanced at Widow Becket—well, not everyone had been invited. “I do mean, of course, everyone in the ton.”

Whatever she thought Mrs. Becket’s reaction would be, she had not thought she’d laugh.

“No need to explain, Miss Forsythe. His lordship and I were just speaking of the many events this season holds,” she said and shifted her gaze to his lordship, her smile going very soft for a moment.

“What of them?” Emily asked.

“Beg your pardon?” Widow Becket asked, seeming a little distracted.

“There are many of them for debutantes,” Lord Montgomery helpfully clarified.

“Yes,” the widow said, turning her smile to Emily again. “How fortuitous you have so many places to dance on your first year out!”

“I suppose that is true,” Emily admitted, and clasped her gloved hands tightly together, looked at the stone floor for a moment, wondering why the widow wouldn’t take her leave? A few awkward moments passed. It seemed to Emily to take forever before Widow Becket at last seemed to understand she was intruding.

“Ah . . .” the widow said.

Emily quickly glanced up; Widow Becket smiled very brightly at Emily. “I think I’ve monopolized his lordship quite long enough—”

“But you haven’t at all,” he said instantly.

“I should see if the vicar needs me,” she said, stepping back. “Good day, my lord. Good day, Miss Forsythe.”

“Good day, Mrs. Becket,” Emily called out.

Much to her annoyance, Montgomery’s gaze followed the retreating widow.

“And how did you find the service?” Emily demanded.

Montgomery dragged his gaze to her again. “The service? Inspiring, as always. Aha, there are your parents, Miss Forsythe. Shall I take you to them?”

There was no graceful way to answer that but to say yes, was there? Disappointed, Emily nodded, put her hand on the arm he offered, and let him lead her to where her mother and father were sitting, acutely aware that her opportunity was slipping away from her with each step. Before it slipped completely away, as they neared her parents, she blurted boldly, “I hope I shall see you at the May Day Ball,” and lifted her gaze to him.

Montgomery glanced down at her. “What a lovely compliment. Thank you.” He looked up to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe, how do you do?” he said, lifting Emily’s hand from his arm.

He exchanged pleasantries with them, wished Emily a good day, and walked on, into the crowd.

Emily watched him go, a little bewildered. She’d had it from her very own brother that if a woman paid particular attention to a man, he would reciprocate that attention. Montgomery didn’t reciprocate. He’d scarcely noticed her at all because he was too intent on Widow Becket. It was disgraceful to a man of his stature.

For the remainder of that luncheon, Emily could not tear her gaze from Montgomery, counting the times he looked for Widow Becket. Eight in all.

That afternoon, when they had returned home from that insufferable affair, Emily plotted her revenge on a woman who had the least right of all the women in London to the admiring looks of one of the most eligible bachelors among the ton, a bachelor who, but for some divine intervention, had suddenly become the only man she’d consider marrying.

Widow Becket should enjoy her flirtation now, Emily thought, because she was determined to bring it to a crashing end.





Chapter Four




Emily Forsythe put her carefully devised plan into existence the very next week, when she offered to accompany her mother to the weekly meeting of the Ladies Auxiliary, where the ladies were planning for the Charity Auction Ball.

Her mother was both very surprised and pleased. “Emily!” she said, squeezing her daughter’s shoulders. “How good of you to think of someone other than yourself!” Emily shrugged sheepishly, accepted the offer to wear her mother’s best bonnet in honor, as she happily put it, of Emily’s first step toward benevolence.

The meeting place was an assembly of rooms connected to the church. Only two ladies were present when Emily and her mother arrived. Emily put aside the basket of apples they had brought.