A Husband's Wicked Ways by Jane Feather

the country and her widow’s rustic existence, or somehow finding the funds to set up her own modest establishment in town. Her efforts to find such funds had so far fallen upon stony ground. It wasn’t that she didn’t have funds, more than sufficient for such a purpose, but her inheritance was held in trust by her late husband’s relatives, a group controlled by the Earl of Markby, Cornelia’s ex-father-in-law and a distant relative of her own. Markby was notoriously difficult to persuade when it came to disbursing funds from the trusts, and he had thus far resisted all such requests from Aurelia.
    Maybe she should go down to Hampshire in person and try a face-to-face appeal. She had managed to avoid the ordeal until now, but if she wanted to remain in London, it was going to have to be done.
    Her swift pace slowed as she saw someone coming down the steps of the house, back to the street. It was Colonel, Sir Greville Falconer. And the sight of him had the strangest effect on her. Her stomach seemed to turn to water, her thighs to jelly. It was as if she were terrified. Then her heart began to beat, her skin to prickle, and she was prompted by an urge to turn and run.
    She held herself still, chiding herself for being so ridiculous. The man could do nothing more to her. He’d sprung his surprise, there was nothing more to be frightened of. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. So she told herself, but the reassurance did nothing to steady her erratic heartbeat…or explain it.
    She walked forward slowly, taking deep breaths. Hehad seen her now and was waiting on the pavement at the bottom of the steps, one gloved hand resting on the iron railing to the steps, the other on the silver hilt of his cane.
    He bowed as she came close. “Lady Farnham, I just called and your butler said you were not at home.”
    “He would appear to have been correct, Sir Greville,” she said, amazed at the even tenor of her voice. She had even managed a lightly ironic lilt to her tone.
    “So it would appear, ma’am.” He smiled that flashing white smile in the bronzed complexion. “I confess I was afraid your servant had been instructed to deny me.”
    “I see no reason to do that, sir,” Aurelia said, proud of the careless shrug that accompanied the statement. She might be terrified, or whatever it was she was feeling, but she seemed able to conceal it.
    “No, neither do I,” he agreed amiably. “May I?” He went ahead of her to the door and banged the brass knocker with a vigor that indicated he had learned the necessity for a loud and imperative knock.
    Aurelia came up beside him, a key in her hand. “It’s easier this way,” she said, fitting the key to the lock. The door swung open just as Morecombe, puffing and grumbling, reached the door.
    “Can’t think why ye ’ave to be a bangin’ an’ a thumpin’ like that,” he complained. “Only jest got t’ the kitchen an’ it starts up again…an’ you’ve a key,” he accused, blinking rheumy eyes at her.
    “I know, forgive me, Morecombe. It was Sir Grevillewho knocked. He was unaware that I had a key,” Aurelia explained apologetically as she stepped into the hall. “Don’t let us disturb you further. We’ll be in the salon and I’ll see Sir Greville out myself.”
    “Right y’are then.” Morecombe sniffed and shuffled away.
    “Extraordinary servant,” Greville observed, as so many had done before him. “Fancy having to apologize to him for expecting him to do his job.”
    Aurelia turned an icy glare upon him. “I hardly think it’s your place, sir, to criticize the management of my household.”
    “No,” he agreed, with that disconcertingly charming smile. “I ask your pardon. I was somewhat taken aback.”
    Aurelia hesitated, but there was something truly infectious about the colonel’s smile and she couldn’t help a slight, answering chuckle. “You are not alone in that, Sir Greville. Most people on first meeting Morecombe have such a response. He