Free The Bumblebroth by Patricia Wynn

squelch him. "I do not particularly care for society." She hoped this answer would put an end to his questions once and for all.
    But William persisted on a note of pure scientific enquiry. "I wonder why."
    At such dogged perseverance, Mattie felt her back was to the wall, and she defensively blurted out, "I was not well received."
    Then, in an attempt to shake the pall that had quickly settled upon her, she shrugged. "I suppose one would say that I did not take."
    "You surprise me," William said. His grave tone prompted her to search his face, but he quickly added, "And, it is a pity, for I suppose I shall never see you in Town."
    Mattie stared at him.
    "Or Lady Pamela," he appended.
    "Oh . . ." Mattie spoke airily, trying not to show how the thought of meeting him in society had flustered her. "I daresay you will see us eventually. I want Pammy to have at least one season in London."
    "Do you? And why, may I ask?"
    "Because I am determined that she shall enjoy herself amongst the Ton."
    "Even though you did not? How curious."
    Mattie drew in a patient breath. Her breasts rose an inch above her décolletage, before she remembered how tight her dress was and exhaled quickly.
    "Lord Westbury, you must know that I am a widow! I am not supposed to amuse myself!"
    It was his turn to be surprised. "But I thought your bereavement occurred many years ago. Ten— if I am not mistaken. I should think that even the most severe critic could not expect you to mourn longer than that. But perhaps you are speaking of a different person. Did you marry a second time?"
    "Certainly not! When His Grace died, I was far too old for marriage!"
    "How old?" Lord Westbury asked this nonchalantly.
    Mattie coloured. "I was twenty-eight," she said. Then, at once, she regretted answering him, for she knew he was certainly older than that and only now contemplating marriage for the first time. But Lord Westbury, it seemed, could be as relentless as his mother.
    "Not too old to remarry," he said, smiling gently.
    Mattie felt her heart give a tremor.
    Oh, dear! she thought. If he smiles like that at Pammy, how will she ever resist him?
    To hide these thoughts, she returned to her work and refused to respond to his comment.
    William stayed seated, his forearms resting upon his knees. Mattie wondered how much longer he would insist upon waiting for Pamela. If she kept silent, perhaps he would go away.
    "So you have been happy here at Westbury Manor?" he asked eventually.
    "Yes, when I was a child, I always admired this site for a garden."
    "Then you perceived that it had promise. It is much more beautiful now than I remember it."
    Mattie bit her lip. She ought not to have started talking about the property; she could see how much it interested him.
    "Yes, His Grace knew that I wished to live here," she said, hoping her tone would discourage him. "That is why he bequeathed it to Pamela."
    "His Grace?"
    She looked questioningly at him.
    William smiled. "It just seems strange. You've referred to him several times that way. Instead of the usual ways, you know— Upavon . . . the duke . . . my husband. I presume he had a Christian name as well?"
    The colour rose to Mattie's cheeks. "Yes. Of course, I meant my husband. 'His Grace' was simply what everyone called him. When I first came to live with him, I thought that was his Christian name and always used it as such. No one bothered to correct me, and so . . . it lingered." She looked up to find William frowning, his keen gaze trained upon her face.
    She stammered, "I heard the servants calling him that, you see."
    "Yes." The frown was still on his face, making him look rather forbidding. "And how old were you when you married, Mattie?"
    Mattie flushed again and looked away. "I was sixteen."
    William said nothing more on the subject. After a while, he began to ask her questions about the garden and what more she planned to do with it. Mattie thought she ought to resent the questions, suspecting, as she did, his