Page 11 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

Slowly, he lowered himself into the chair that was by all accounts too small for him. But in that moment, he was a boy again, pretending to wear his da’s shoes and hat, all tremendously too big for him. For an instant, Tavish felt like a child sitting in an adult’s chair.

Beside him, Declan cleared his throat. “Da and the Duke of Karrington became close while you were…away. His wife, the duchess, has agreed to instruct Ada, Caitrin, and Mother on the rules of society.”

“Mother?” Tavish asked, looking from his ma to his sister.

“Aye, she’s been calling me that since her lessons started.” His ma shook her head. “His Grace wants to throw a ball in your honor,” his ma said excitedly.

Tavish stared at his mother, while Betsy ladled a hearty helping of stew into his empty bowl.

“Any word from Griffin?” Tavish asked about the fourth brother, who was an apprentice to a solicitor in Derbyshire.

“He’s determined to be solicitor. I expect him to come and beg you for a job.” Fionn said, before digging into his stew.

“Declan told me about Da’s debts. I already have Hughes handling it.” Tavish took a large spoonful of stew into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

He hadn’t been happy to learn about his da’s debts, but the only way forward was to pay them.

Pouring a hearty glass of whiskey for herself, his ma took a sip.

Holding back a smile, he waited patiently for her to finish her drink.

When he was younger, he’d always promised to marry a girl that drank like his ma.

Now all he could do was think about the beautiful woman waiting at Summerset House for him.

Fecking hell.

“Hughes, he’s just as bad as the old duke if you ask me.” His ma placed her glass down. “But you’re the duke, and now we’re all saved from the workhouse.”

He held his fourth spoonful of stew in the air. “The workhouse?” he asked, shaking his head. “No, Da would never allow things to get that bad.”

Declan reached over and took the decanter of whiskey and poured two glasses. “I think he hid it from us all.” His brother handed him a glass. “Especially as his sickness progressed and made him weaker,” he said, before taking a sip from his glass.

A condition of the heart, according to his brother. Apparently, it was an affliction that their da had lived with for years, never telling anyone that he was ill.

“I know it’s not what you want for yer life, but the family needs you now.” His mother stared at him from across the long table.

A table big enough for a family of nine. Growing up, Tavish was never hungry nor wanted for anything, all because of his parents. They’d even taken on another mouth to feed after the death of his mother’s sister.

“I told him that you, Adara, and Caitrin should move to Mayfair with him,” Declan said, pointing his bread at their ma.

“And I told him to stop making decisions for me,” Tavish added, not looking at his brother. “I know you’ll never leave here.”

“Sorry, Your Grace,” Declan mocked, before taking a bite of his bread. “I suppose you’d like to stay in that fancy house with the duchess, alone. I saw how you were looking at her.”

Bloody hell.

He’d thought he’d concealed the madness the chit had stirred in him, but he should’ve known there was no hiding from his brother.

“That’s enough, you two. I won’t have you coming to fisticuffs at the table, like you did when you were twelve.” His ma took a gulp of her whiskey.

“My money’s on Tavish, again,” Fionn said, before putting a spoonful of stew in his mouth.

“I won’t be moving to Mayfair. My home is here, but I’ll come and visit whenever you need me or if there’s an event I need to attend.” She smiled, before taking a hearty bite of stew.

“I’m to live alone in Mayfair with Summerset’s widow, who Declan insists I throw out of her home, while the rest of you do what exactly?” Tavish asked, balling one hand into a fist.

“Are you afraid of the nobs and a widow?” Fionn teased, pinching his cheek. “You need ma to protect you?”

“Feck off, Fionn?—”

“Oi! Stop cursing in my damn house!” his mother shouted, causing Tavish, his brothers, and his sister to laugh. “We’re never going to be allowed in Mayfair.”

“Well, I’m going to be a lady,” Adara called out, practically bouncing in her seat. “Tavish, do you think your duchess will help me too?”

His duchess? She wasn’t his. Everything about him was rough, and she was everything soft and silky.

He’d always been rough, and he quite liked that about himself. Although Tavish was educated just like his brothers, he never wanted a quiet life or a wife, or any of those things their da had embedded in them.

“She’s not my duchess,” he said, but the beating of his heart and the image of her standing naked before him told a completely different story.

Bloody fecking hell.

Florentia sat in the Dowager Lady Wyndam’s sitting room, sipping her tea quietly, trying to ascertain the woman’s character. Usually, she could decipher their ilk in minutes of first meeting them, but that was not the case with the old woman in front of her.

The Dowager Lady Wyndham sat stoically in a red upholstered chair that oddly matched the elaborate gown she was wearing. She appeared like she was dressed more for dinner than for afternoon tea.

Her dark brown hair was streaked with gray. Her sharp brown eyes surveyed Florentia intently, making her slightly uncomfortable. No one made her uncomfortable.

Ever.

Except Tavish, the new duke, and now the dowager.

The dowager’s old, withered hand was wrapped around an ornate cane with intricate carvings at the base.

The grandeur of the home did not impress Florentia, she had lived with the old duke for three years after all. Her own mother had extravagant taste, yet the Allendale earldom coffers were always lacking.

“You are too young to be a widow,” were the dowager’s first words to Florentia.

At twenty-two years, Florentia was the youngest duchess of the ton. It wasn’t unusual for a gentleman to choose a young bride, but a forty-year age difference was a bit dramatic.

“I was also too young to be a wife to an old man, but no one cared,” Florentia said before relaxing against the cushions of the beige sofa.

A smile ticked at the side of the dowager’s lips. “No, they never do. Do they?” she asked, surveying her with warm brown eyes.

Florentia laughed, suddenly enjoying the company of the elder woman. “I have rarely been asked my opinion about my own life.”

“Indeed.” She lifted her cane and pointed it at Florentia. “I hear your mother has arranged another match for you.”

She stilled, not wanting to speak about her parents attempt at marrying her off to Baron Primwood. It was absurd. Three years ago, she had no choice, but now, a widow, she would not be controlled again.

It didn’t matter that her marriage contract only provided a paltry sum; all that mattered was that she was free. If she had to work, she’d do it. She’d do anything to rid herself of her mother.

“That is what she wishes, but I have no desire to marry another older gentleman,” she said, before taking a sip of tea.

Florentia had no desire to marry at all. In her experience, marriage was a way to be controlled. Not only for women, but for men, like her father.

Her father, the Earl of Allendale, had never gone against his wife on a single subject, not even for his daughters.

“If I was your age, I wouldn’t either.” The dowager chuckled, pressing a jeweled hand to her chest. “I don’t even want an older gentleman at my age.”

“Is that why I’m here? To discuss my marriage prospects?” Florentia asked before taking a bite of biscuit. It was savory and sweet, much better than the horrid biscuits the cook at Summerset House made.

“You’re here because I think you need the Widow’s League’s assistance.” Lady Wyndam leaned forward, placing all her weight on her cane.

“I don’t need your assistance.” Florentia had taken care of herself for years, and she would continue to do so, alone.

“Don’t you?” The dowager waved her cane at Florentia. “You’ve been causing tongues to wag, my dear. Everyone knows you’re sleeping with your servants, and possibly young Reeves Montague.”

Florentia picked up her teacup and saucer, refusing to acknowledge the accusations.

It was the same complaint her mother had, though she had been much crueler with her words.

The truth was, Florentia had slept with Montague once, but he was just too easy to manipulate, and her relationship with Thomas was completely over. She had no prospects for a lover.

Florentia ignored the image of the imposing new duke that suddenly clouded her mind.

No.

She forced a smile behind her teacup. The dowager did not waste time with pretense. Good.

“Whom I sleep with is no concern of the Widow’s League,” she said pointedly, refusing to be treated like a child.

“Aww, but it is my dear.” Lady Wyndam waved the cane in the air like it was a long sword. “As you are a duchess, and if you’re being reckless, then it will reflect badly on us all.”

“So, what do you suggest I do? Obey you when I don’t even obey my own mother.” It was comical, Florentia liked the dowager, but in the end, she would do as she pleased.

“I suggest you learn to be discreet, or marry again, but perhaps this time, you choose your own husband.” Lady Wyndam suggested. “I hear your new duke is quite young, and if he looks anything like his father, he’ll definitely be handsome.” She gave her a knowing smirk.

Her duke?

He meant nothing to Florentia, and he especially was not hers.

“I won’t marry again, especially not to that brute who inherited the dukedom.” She shook her head, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotion that assaulted her.

Yes, Tavish O’Brien was quiet pleasing to look at, and she was sure he was more than an adequate lover, but she wasn’t marrying anyone.

“It is just a suggestion, my dear.” Lady Wyndam waved her hand at Florentia. “What other choices do you have, unless you plan to be a mistress, or return to your mother?”

The older woman waited for an answer. It was no secret among society that Lady Allendale was not a very kind person to anyone in her family. Florentia would not return to her parents, nor would she marry Primwood.

“If you need us, the Widow’s League is here for you, and you are more than welcome to stay at Matron Manor for as long as you wish, but you must stop this reckless behavior at once.” Lady Wyndam tapped her cane against the dark carpet. “If you’re going to behave badly, at least do it in private.”