Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow Read Online Free Page B

lost?”
    Perceval grinned. “Is the lady worth it, Hamson?”
    “Every grit of me says yes. Though, what if she damages me again?”
    Compton leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. “A young girl marries a man so many years her senior, he could be considered her grandfather. Three years later, he passes on. After the mourning period, she comes to London, an heiress—I am assuming, from the loads of plantations the earl kept in the West Indies. He would have not left her destitute. You are desiring to know her once more, and now are concerned for propriety’s sake, that you may harm Miss Hemming in doing so.”
    “Yes, yes, it is that exactly!”
    Compton continued, “And what would you say if Atten here decided to court the widow himself?”
    Atten balked, but it was the flash of fury that George recognized that sold the debate. “You are correct,” George admitted. “If I do not at least attempt to court her, many a young buck will jump in there before me.”
    “Many.” Compton smirked.
    “Well, lads, I think we have our answer.” Perceval nodded. “Though why it took all of us rushing over to meet with you, I will never understand.”
    Atten laughed. “When it comes to women, it is usually best to consult with others or we would, each of us, make a great muddle of it all.”
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE:
     
     
    Lord Hamson swooped into his mother’s stately London home on Grosvenor Square at the very unfashionable hour of twelve o’clock, precisely when he knew she would be sitting down for noon tea in the upstairs parlor. He brushed past Sprightly, the butler, with a quick how-do-you-do. Then took the stairs at a ghastly two-at-a-time pace with an impressive bouquet of pink roses trailing behind his back.
    “Here I am, Mother!” he called as he entered the room, kissed Lady Hamson on her cheek, presented her with her most favorite flowers, and bowed low. “Have you missed me?” he asked before pulling out a seat without being asked.
    “Why would I miss such a scapegrace?” she tutted as she brought the roses up to her nose for a sniff and then passed them on to the servant to be taken care of. “Such a bright bouquet. Thank you, dear.”
    George beamed. “I saw them today and could not pass them up without bringing them directly to you.”
    She gave him an arch look and took a bite of her cucumber sandwich. That look, combined with the peach-colored morning dress she wore, made her seem at least fifteen years younger.
    “You look exceptionally pretty today,” George observed as he collected a plate and began to help himself to the array of fruits, vegetables, cheese, and dainty sandwiches.
    Lady Hamson blotted her mouth with a napkin and then said rather frankly, “Out with it, young man.”
    “Out with what?” he asked, giving his most innocent look.
    She grinned and waved her hand. “No, those guises do not work on me. I am your mother, someone who is dreadfully afraid of what significant folly will now come traipsing from your lips. I know you too well, my boy. You only bring me flowers when you have gotten yourself in a scrape of some sort. I suggest you tell me straight away before I become bothered.”
    “Can your son not consider his mother and not want to brighten her day with roses? Why must you be so apprehensive?”
    “George Verl Hamson, you are my last child, and the only one known for his many escapades and continual need for forgiveness. Do not for one minute believe that you are fooling me. Now, what ails you? And what predicament have you gotten yourself into now?”
    He plopped a few berries into his mouth.
    “And for heaven’s sake, eat like a person of class and not some wild animal. If this is how you act while entertaining the ladies, ’tis no wonder you have not married yet.”
    “I trust you are correct.” George grinned, reached over, and snatched three more berries.
    “George! Cease vexing me, child, and get on with this visit.”
    “Very well.” He