Wicked Mourning by Heather Boyd

 
    Chapter One
     
    Reginald Moore gestured to the oak tree beyond his window. “This isn’t amusing, Clara.”
    Reggie made room so Clara Blackstone, the widow of his former business partner, could stand between him and the farce occurring outside.
    At the sight, she drew in a sharp breath. “No, of course not, Reggie, it’s downright dangerous.”
    Beneath his bedchamber window, a young lady—one he’d previously thought to be above such foolishness—hung from a high branch wailing pitifully. Her legs kicked in the air ineffectually, her hair—fallen from its moorings—blinded her to the full extent of danger. Beneath her, her father stood shouting up at the branches and Reggie feared she might faint from the parental scolding.
    Her miserable shrieks gathered strength and then a particularly high and desperate one made him shudder. “Why do you think she attempted the climb and came to be stranded?”
    “I imagine she heard the rumor that you sleep with the window open and was attempting to further her acquaintance with you. It is entirely your fault that the local lasses are forced to ridiculous measures to catch a glimpse of you. If you could be the least bit pleasant, and do the pretty once in a while, things would go much better for you. Now you’re officially out of mourning the town speaks of nothing but what a grand matrimonial prize you are. One of them means to have you, but the size of the tree was clearly a small concern in Miss Allen’s mind.”
    Reggie let his gaze stray to the widow standing beside him. Almost equal to his height, he had a fine view of Clara Blackstone’s features. She was exceptionally pretty: flawless pale skin, full rosy lips, but her soft doe brown eyes no longer sparkled with warmth as she spoke. Was that a hint of sadness in her tone?
    What had caused today’s disappointment? “More’s the pity. Did it not occur to the chit that the span of the tree fell somewhat short of my window?”
    Clara leaned closer to the glass and her black bombazine gown whispered across his leather-encased foot. Another distraction, added to the shock of her surprising invasion of his bedchamber. He’d never imagined she’d seek him out here for conversation, but he could certainly grow used to such intimate moments. “That truly is a matter the girl should have taken into account before the attempt, isn’t it?”
    Reggie kept his distance from the glass and from his friend’s widow. Neither the spectacle below nor the spectacle before him was safe for closer inspection. Not yet at any rate. One day soon, however, he hoped to make a marked change in Clara’s situation. But he had to be patient and wait for the conclusion of one last matter. Then neither hell nor high water would prevent him having his way, and securing Clara as a permanent fixture in his life.
    Clara’s shoulders sagged. “Ah, the gardener has brought round a ladder.”
    “Good grief,” Reggie groaned, “is Andrews to fetch her down? Well, we’ll have two burials to attend to now.”
    “No, not Andrews, the younger gardener—the tall strapping Welshman.”
    Hearing Clara describe another man with such glowing approval in her tone unnerved Reggie. He frowned at her somber attire, thankful that her involvement with the situation below the window hid his annoyance. Reggie had waited patiently for Clara to put her husband’s death behind her and notice how much he worried for her welfare. These months of wretched celibacy couldn’t be for naught.
    “Hmm, he’s climbing up after her.” Clara pressed her hand to the glass, fingers splayed close to the action. She gave no further commentary, but a sigh passed her lips.
    As always, his glance fastened on her ring finger. A single band of gold still encased it. “I think I have kept you in the country too long if the servants are beginning to appeal to you.”
    Clara chuckled, a rich throaty laugh that distracted him more the longer he knew her. Once, when deep in