The Willful Widow
by Evelyn Richardson
trial. To be sure, he would have his bit of fun, but he always did come through in the end when the situation warranted it, and for his part, Alfred could not imagine a more serious state of affairs than those now facing the future of the Winterbourne inheritance.
"Almost you tempt me," Justin pretended to hesitate while cynically observing the variety of emotions that flitted over his elder brother's florid countenance. "Oh, very well," he relented. "I never was one to resist a challenge, especially where a pretty woman is concerned. But now, pray excuse me as I have a pressing appointment with another pretty woman, and I must change into something more suitable."
"Opera dancers," Alfred snorted in disgust. Justin held up one beautifully shaped hand, "Not opera dancers, Alfred,
the
opera dancer. Mademoiselle de Charenton is not to be mentioned in the same breath as her sisters."
If he were a man given to reflection, Alfred would undoubtedly have asked himself why it irked him that an opera dancer so celebrated for her beauty that her name was known even to the Earl of Winterbourne should have chosen to bestow her much sought after favors on his brother. To be sure, Justin was plump enough in the pocket, but he was not precisely the Golden Ball, and he was a younger son besides. Had Alfred cared to ask, the lady in question could have enlightened him. Sometime later that afternoon, disengaging herself from a passionate embrace, Suzette de Charenton, shining star of the corps de ballet and toast of all of masculine London, gazed appreciatively at her caller. La, the man was 60
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handsome! She couldn't remember when she had last had a lover who could rival Justin's dark good looks and athletic build. One had only to look into the enigmatic gray eyes under their straight dark brows to be lost. Suzette had done just that one evening. Several months ago, despite the glare of the footlights, she had singled Justin St. Clair out among the audience. With his square-cut jaw and powerful shoulders, he exuded an energy and determination that set him apart from the other town beaux who were whiling away the evening leering at pretty legs. When she had first caught sight of him, he had been surveying his fellows with amused detachment, but later, unlike the others, he actually appeared to pay attention to the figures of the dance, applauding at those which revealed skill and artistry rather than a well-turned ankle or an enticing calf.
Initially attracted by his mere physical presence, Suzette had been intrigued by his interest and, hoping against hope that he would appear at her dressing room door after the performance. She had instructed her maid to deny all others access, no matter how importunate they became. Mrs. Huggins, grim champion of the opera's leading attraction, had had her work cut out for her. More tenderhearted than most of her sister artists who only wanted to snare the richest lord as soon as possible, Suzette customarily allowed an audience with all her admirers after a performance, leaving no one disappointed. Thus, there were howls of protest when Mrs. Huggins informed the crowd of her mistress's previous engagement. Mrs. Huggins remained 61
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gracious but firm, accepting the floral tributes without moving an inch from her position in front of the danseuse's door. Convinced at last of the lady's determination to deny them even the briefest glimpse of her exquisite form and radiant smile, her admirers had drifted away in search of the inferior companionship of the other dancers. It was then that Justin St. Clair had appeared, and Mrs. Huggins needed no further explanation of her mistress's quixotic behavior. Even Suzette's rather enthusiastic description had not done him justice. Mrs. Huggins's heart, long dead to any masculine attractions, fluttered inside her ample bosom. It was not just St. Clair's splendid physique or handsome profile that caused all women, young and old, to sneak a second glance, it was the way he carried himself: erect, but without self-consciousness; alert, his glance taking in everything around him. And then there was his smile and his expression when he looked at someone, focusing all his attention on her as though he truly were interested.
"Does Mademoiselle de Charenton have a moment to acknowledge a devoted admirer," he inquired flashing a singularly charming smile at the dancer's grim defender.
"Well, she ... that is, I expect ... I shall inquire of her." And blushing like a schoolgirl, Mrs. Huggins disappeared to inform her mistress that
he
had at last arrived. Justin leaned against the door, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He had known how it would be the minute he caught the dancer's attention. She had seen him immediately, and her gaze had quickly shifted to the boxes above him; but he had caught her sneaking glances at him as she pirouetted 62
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across the stage, and as she had stopped to acknowledge the thunderous applause and caught sight of him, she had allowed the tiniest of smiles to flit across her full red lips. Wise in the ways of sought-after women, he had waited until the others had left, certain of his admission to her dressing room.
For her part, from the moment Justin St. Clair had stepped through the door that night at the opera, Suzette, experienced as she was, had wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man in her life. She had emerged breathless and shaking from their first embrace with a desire that had only increased during their liaison. It was not just his practiced lovemaking or his ability to make a woman feel as though she were the most exquisite creature in the world that made him so irresistible, but it was his genuine interest in her, Suzette de Charenton, that had caused the premiere ballerina to single him out among all her would-be admirers.
"Ah,
mon cheri,
you are more handsome every time I see you," she now sighed, sliding one tiny hand down his chest. Justin laughed. "Doing it much too brown aren't you, my love?"
The dancer fixed him with her emerald eyes, "Alas no. You know, Justin, my heart is of the most jaded, and ordinarily I am
tres ennuyee
with all you silly men. But you, you are something different,
non
?"
"I should like to think so, at least where you are concerned."
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She smiled, flashing a charming dimple at him. "Yes, you are, I am sad to say. I should so much prefer to be indifferent to you."
"Indifferent, sweetheart, but why, when it is so much more charming for both of us that you are not?"
"Because, odious man, I should like for one woman at least to be immune to your devastating attractions, and I have yet to see anyone who is. Even my poor Huggins has a certain air about her when you are around. It would be good for your character to meet someone who does not cast herself at your feet." The lady sniffed, but her eyes twinkled up at him.
"Then you may lay your fears for my character to rest, because I have discovered the very female you seek. Not only does she resist my, er 'charms', she has assured me that she wishes to have nothing to do with me." Suzette was intrigued. "I had not known that such a person existed. Is she an ape-leader?" For only a hardened and embittered old maid could resist the lurking smile in those gray eyes.
"No. In fact, some would say she is rather attractive, my nephew Reginald for one. It is his ridiculous infatuation with her that has been the cause of a great deal of bother, and sent my brother Alfred running to me like the old woman he is." Justin sighed bitterly. "But, I did not come here to talk about me. I came to feast my eyes on your beautiful countenance and to see if I could persuade you to allow me to purchase you a new bonnet from Celeste, since you confided in me how much you admired her creations. 'Tis such a fine 64
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spring day that one feels one should celebrate somehow, and this seems a most appropriate way to enjoy it." Suzette smiled. "You are too generous, sir. Why only last week you insisted on bestowing that beautiful shawl on me, which was shockingly dear." So he would not discuss this latest contretemps with her, but she could tell by the furrow in his brow that something was bothering him. Ordinarily, Justin blithely wrote off his family as a group of dullards with more hair than wit, who were better off in the country where they usually obliged him by remaining. There must be something more to this than met the eye. Perhaps there was something to this woman who seemed to dislike him. The opera dancer resolved to discover what she could. Confident of her own beauty and power to attract, Suzette did not fear any female competition, but she was curious as to what sort of person could inspire the determined look now darkening her lover's eyes.
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Suzette was to have her curiosity satisfied sooner than she had expected as the next evening all of the parties concerned appeared at the opera.
Ascending the stairs, Diana admitted she had good reason to bless Aunt Seraphina's managing ways. It had been ages since she had been to anything more elaborate than a musicale, and she surveyed the brilliant crowd around her with lively interest. Lady Jersey, in her box, was chatting busily to an attentive gentleman whose identity was concealed by the enormous turban of the dowager unabashedly eavesdropping in front of him. Sally glanced up just as Reginald's little party entered their own box and smiled at Diana who nodded back in a friendly fashion. Good, Sally thought to herself, the young widow was finally enjoying herself again and in the process seemed to have bewitched the young Viscount Chalford.
It was vastly amusing to Sally, who, never able to resist a challenge, had once tried her best to flirt with his father, the Earl of Winterbourne, and had found him to be as stiff and humorless as one of Madame Tussaud's wax figures. He must be furious at his son's attention to an older woman, and a penniless one at that. Sally had a fondness for the gal. As Ferdie's viscountess, Diana had handled her charming wastrel of a husband with grace and dignity. Now she deserved a little gaiety for the anxiety she must have suffered; but Sally 66
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vowed she would find Diana someone more lively than Reginald.
Another member of the audience was also surveying that particular corner of the opera house. Glancing idly up at the boxes, Justin St. Clair ground his teeth as he intercepted the interchange between the two women. There was no doubt the chit had nerve. Here she was, barely a twenty-four hours after his visit, flaunting her connection with his family for all the world to see. Not that she didn't look quite lovely in a short-waisted robe of striped French gauze over a white satin slip. The décolletage and the short full sleeves showed off the graceful neck and arms to perfection. Her dark hair was pulled off the forehead with the dusky curls falling to one side emphasizing the beautifully sculpted shoulders, white skin, and unusual sapphire eyes. Impoverished though she might be, the widow somehow managed to appear elegant, as did the handsome woman next to her. Aunt Seraphina, Justin decided as he peered through his quizzing glass at the highbridged Roman nose and determined jaw, did not look to be the type to be taken by the likes of either the Viscount Chalford or Lady Diana Hatherill.
Justin continued to stare at the box. They had barely settled themselves in their gilt chairs, before a group of exquisites eagerly entered the box. Though most of their backs were to him, Justin thought he recognized the carrotcolored hair of Tony Washburne, Ferdie's crony and challenger in the fatal race. Here was competition, Justin thought to himself hopefully. Ferdie's crowd, though as devoid of anything in their cocklofts as their departed companion, 67
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were of a sophistication and an age more likely to interest Diana than his nephew. Justin scrutinized Reginald, trying to read the lad's reaction, which, to his disgust, appeared to be blatant pleasure in his adored's surrounding court of admirers.
There was a shout of laughter, and he returned his gaze to the beaux around Diana, who, eyes sparkling, had apparently just delivered some witticism or other that even Aunt Seraphina appeared to find highly diverting. Thoroughly revolted, Justin turned his attention to the stage as the orchestra began to tune up.
Unconscious of both critical observers scrutinizing her, Diana was enjoying herself hugely. She had forgotten the excitement she always felt in the opulent theater, filled with gorgeously dressed women, and the anticipation that welled up in her as she gazed down at the brilliantly lit stage. After so much time spent quietly in Brook Street, she would have been content simply to sit silently absorbing it all, but the door to the box had opened and the chorused "Lady Diana" had warned her that the inseparable trio of Ferdie's sportingmad friends—Tony Washburne, Sir Ralph Grinstead, and the Honorable Henry Throckmorton—had come to greet her in their customary exuberant fashion.
She had never shared much with Ferdie's friends, caring little about their absurd bets, and even less for their determined consumption of quantities of port. But she had always appreciated their breezy, friendly manner, their warm acceptance of her into their coterie, and their way of making her feel as though they were the brothers she had never had. 68
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It had not hurt either that they considered her a veritable paragon of cleverness and, following Ferdie's lead, had consulted her from time to time on their most ticklish problems.
"Lady Diana, you must help me. I am in the most devilish coil," Tony Washburne burst out as soon as the acknowledgments and introductions were concluded satisfactorily.
Diana chuckled. "When weren't you in a 'devilish coil,'