The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

in the clean scent of beeswax and proceeded to the parlor door where she stopped again to smooth down the high collar of her black gown and compose herself. The sooner she said her hellos and goodbyes, the sooner she could get back to her list of tasks. She pushed open the parlor door.

      Bear-grease pomade hung thick on the air. Her hand slid the short distance from her collar to her mouth to cover her cough.

      “My dear, how lovely you look!” Baron Lumsley jumped to his feet, beaming.

      Her brother, the Earl of Rollinson, soon followed, all smiles. He and his friend were a mismatched pair, Niles being tall and thin while Lumsley tended toward portly and barely reached his shoulders. Apart from that, their tailors had put them into similar light-colored jackets, plaid trousers and silk waistcoats.

      The mirror over the fireplace immediately revealed her mistake. Heavens! No wonder they’d got the wrong impression.

      Gracie, her lady’s maid, had been in a surprisingly good mood this morning. While she’d jabbered on about a yellow rooster and a donkey, she’d tamed Sarah’s blonde hair and curled ringlets down the sides of her face. The style rather flattered her. Something Sarah had told her repeatedly not to do. Flattering hairstyles, comely gowns and rouge had a way of putting her into all sorts of unwanted situations. Like now.

      “Curls complement you, my dear,” Lumsley effused. He took her hand and placed a damp kiss on her knuckles.

      He and Niles had been friends since her brother brought him home from Harrow during one of the holidays. From a round-faced youth, Lumsley had grown into a rather medium sort of man: medium height, medium features, medium build. Not bad… not good… just medium.

      His one distinguishing characteristic – his slicked-down, medium-brown hair – had thinned, leaving a bald patch in back. The missing follicles appeared to have decamped to more fertile ground in his abundant muttonchops, which now framed his ruddy cheeks and met in a bristly mustache under his nose.

      “How have you been, my lord?” She withdrew her hand and dried it on her skirt.

      “Very well, thank you.” Lumsley’s broad grin showed the gap between his two large front teeth. “This may be rather last minute, but we were in the area and hoped you might accompany us to Berkeley Square for an ice at Gunter’s.”

      Sarah tried to keep an equable expression as she gazed at her deceased husband’s little mind-puzzler contraptions sitting on the table in front of the sofa. Few guests could resist their allure and Niles and Lumsley had obviously been playing with them while they waited.

      “I do appreciate the offer, but I have an appointment.” She almost added that even if she didn’t have an appointment, she couldn’t think of doing anything so spur-of-the-moment. She must place it on her schedule and mentally prepare.

      “Ask them to wait until we return,” Lumsley wheedled amiably. “Or better yet, postpone it to another time.”

      Sarah idly scratched her knuckles. “I probably shouldn’t.”

      Outside, a furious storm of hammering commenced, rattling the parlor’s glass panes. The workmen had finished their noonday meal and with it went the blessed silence. She stepped to the window to see the journeymen tear into Strathford’s burned laboratory.

      A whole other species of masculinity strutted below them – muscling heavy timbers and pieces of granite and brandishing large tools – a surprisingly fit lot and quite diverting for a widow of two-plus years.

      Such manliness rarely made it into her limited circle of acquaintances… except for, well, the vexatious Mr Cornelius Ravenhill.

      “Sit, then, and spend a few moments with us.” Her brother smiled and motioned for her to take a place on the couch next to his friend.

      Sarah loved her brother and didn’t want to disappoint him, but it didn’t take a singular intellect to see he wanted her to marry his best friend.

      Outside, a loud screech rent the air. She turned back toward the window in time to see a portion of the laboratory’s wall collapse onto Edward’s invention garden.

      Lumsley strode to her side and whistled at the sight.

      Sarah gazed down, heartsick. With his wonderful genius, her husband had designed a singular garden and populated it with his unique inventions. It had been the embodiment of everything Edward had been.

      Three workmen crawled through the plume of dust spewing out of the new opening. Two more rolled wheelbarrows over the shattered memory fountain to shovel up the debris. A broken water pipe, now a small geyser, flooded what was left of the flower bed.

      “This renovation appears quite the undertaking, my lady.” Lumsley turned to her brother. “Are you helping your sister with this project, Rollinson?”

      “This is my project,” she piped up. “The rooms have needed repair for far too long. A blot on the neighborhood, I’ve been informed. I’m rebuilding them to suit my interests.”

      “And you haven’t helped her, dear boy? For shame,” Lumsley chastised her brother. “She needs a man to control that army of workmen outside.”

      “I’d hoped she would have chosen a husband by now.” Niles winked.

      Their conversation faded to the background while Sarah considered the situation. As a young woman she’d been isolated and biddable, marrying two staid old men for her father’s convenience and peace of mind.

      Lumsley could be an improvement in some respects. He was closer in age, she’d known him for years and he’d certainly fit in well with the family. But he reminded her of cold porridge. Nothing about him drew her. She gazed about Edward’s collection of small inventions and unique clocks working like delicate heartbeats on the shelves about the room.

      Not one of them was ordinary or mediocre. Perhaps that was the reason why her husband so disliked him?

      “You were always good at organization, Lumsley. Something I’ve admired about you.” Niles gestured to his friend. “He has the impeccable ability to immediately see where things need to be put to rights.” He swept his hand toward Sarah and raised his brows. “He could help you sort out all that rabble outside if you’d give him a chance.”

      Her Aunt Eliza’s counsel came back to her. “Have courage, my dear. You are a widow of means, and now have the luxury to find your own happiness.”

      How Sarah wanted to take her aunt’s advice. But the day-to-day responsibilities and realities of making her own way had begun to wear. She’d spent most of her adult years as a wife confined to a woman’s sphere. Doubts now crept in, questioning if she’d the fortitude to withstand her family and society’s pressure against remaining an unmarried woman.

      She gazed down at the ruined garden and clenched a fist to her stomach. The sight worked on her like a punch to the solar plexus. Self-condemnation tumbled over her like a wave. If she’d been better at managing, Edward’s miraculous invention garden would still be in one piece.

      An overpowering urge to hold and touch items Edward made for her became paramount. Her teeth ground together as she strode to the door. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m not able to go with you today. Megpeas will show you out.”

      “I say, Sis, getting away for a little while might be just the thing.”

      She yanked open the door. “Unfortunately, I already have a very full day.”

      Sarah nearly ran up the stairs and down the long hallway. Her shoes tapped on the marble slabs as she turned into a darkened corridor. Three rows of rectangular wooden moldings marched along the walls.

      After checking up and down the empty hallway, she pulled a chain from under her collar. On it hung an ornate key. She counted to the middle fifth rectangle on her right, ran her finger under the lower left-hand corner, and fitted the key into the lock. Giving it a firm twist, the secret door swung inward. She quickly stepped through and relocked the door.