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    The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story)
    The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story)
    The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story)
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story)

    By Karen Hawkins

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A WICKED WIDOW SHORT STORY with bonus excerpts of coming books!

    He's made a vow . . .

    Eight months ago, noted physician Sir Richard Thornton was called to attend the final days of young Baron Kilkenny. It was a sad, tragic case, made more so by the hauntingly beautiful Baroness Kilkenny, Jane Doherty, who had tried desperately to save her own husband. Having witnessed so many of life's worst tragedies, Richard believes himself safe from distracting attachments, but Jane's haunting beauty has lingered . . .

    She refuses to accept the conventional . . .

    The daughter of a prominent physician who trained her in the healing arts, Jane believes she could have saved her husband if only taciturn, over-bearing Sir Richard hadn't interfered. Jane vows to have nothing more to do with the abrupt, rude doctor and works hard to establish a thriving practice of her own for those in need. But society isn't happy with her attempt to move in a man's world, and the scandal sheets spread scurrilous rumors and label her the 'Wicked Widow.'

    But who is really 'wicked' . . .

    Richard is fascinated by the thought of the angelic, delicate Jane as a wanton and wild 'Wicked Widow,' which is why he's spent a considerable amount of time making certain their paths would never again cross. But fate has other plans and soon Jane and Richard find themselves sharing a patient while heated tempers - and even hotter passion - flares once again.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKaren Hawkins
    Release dateDec 10, 2012
    ISBN9781301803552
    The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story)
    Author

    Karen Hawkins

    Karen Hawkins was raised in Tennessee, a member of a huge extended family that included her brother and sister, an adopted sister, numerous foster siblings, and various exchange students. In order to escape the chaos (and while hiding when it was her turn to do the dishes), she would huddle under the comforter on her bed with a flashlight and a book, a habit she still embraces to this day.

    Read more from Karen Hawkins

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      Book preview

      The Lady in the Tower (A Wicked Widows Short Story) - Karen Hawkins

      The Lady in the Tower

      By Karen Hawkins and Holly Crawford

      Published by Karen Hawkins and Holly Crawford at Smashwords

      Copyright 2012 Karen Hawkins and Holly Crawford

      Chapter 1  

      October 12, 1815

      London

      Thank goodness you’ve arrived. Jane Doherty, Baroness Kilkenny, reached through the open door and pulled her guest inside.

      Catherine Breckinridge, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, lifted a blond brow. Answering your own door? What’s amiss? Her Grace was Russian by birth, a fact that showed not only in her light accent, but also in her choice of bold colors. Not for her the pastels of the current season, but the rich colors of her native Russia.

      Jennings is ill, so I–

      A hacking cough sounded behind them. Jane turned to see her butler standing in the foyer. Jennings, I told you to remain in bed.

      But, my lady, I couldn’t leave you to answer your own door.

      Nonsense! I opened the door and her grace came in. Easy as could be. Now go back to bed.

      The duchess smiled as she removed her gloves. I’d do as she says. Being a patient of your mistress’s, I can vouch she is quite stubborn.

      So I am. Off to bed with you, Jennings, and take another dose of the tincture I gave you last night.

      He sighed deeply, which set off another round of coughing. Unable to speak, he managed a bow as he coughed his way downstairs.

      Poor man, Catherine observed. How serious is his ailment?

      It’s curable if he’ll stay in bed, which I am determined he will do. Jane shook her head. Quite a busy morning. All of London seems to have caught the ague.

      Except you. You never catch the ailments you treat. Amusement lit blue eyes darker than Jane’s own. In a certain light, they might be mistaken for sisters, but Catherine’s blond hair was much lighter than Jane’s straw-color.

      Father always claimed I had the health of a farm horse. It helps when one’s physicking. She was so blessed to be able to help those in need. Her father, Sir Reginald, had taught her most of the valuable lessons he’d learned over the years, including some of his apothecary skills. Granted, because of the restrictions placed on females, she’d never be allowed to fully pursue a career in medicine, but that didn’t stop her from practicing wherever and whenever she could.  Indeed, she enjoyed a far better than average rate of success.

      And yet, of all the people she’d helped over the last few years, she hadn’t been able to save her own husband, Albert. It had been eight months since his passing, and guilt still dug at her with spiked spurs. He’d been a very kind man and despite his straight-laced commitment to convention, and their repeated disagreements about her place in society, they’d been very fond of each other.

      When he’d grown ill, she’d wracked her brain and her books for a cure, but all for naught. While she worked, often falling asleep digging through her father’s books and journals, Albert’s family had secretly called in another physician, Sir Richard Thornton. She’d been furious at her in-laws’ lack of faith, especially when Thornton had done nothing more than examine Albert a mere half an hour before declaring his situation hopeless. The news seemed to have sped Albert to his death that much faster, despite everything she tried.

      So much for Richard Thornton’s physicking. Now, months later, she could admit that perhaps Albert’s situation had been nearly hopeless. But Thornton’s manner—abrupt, arrogant, taciturn, and completely dismissive of her thoughts and suggestions—had not helped matters. If she ever saw the man again she’d probably wallop him with her medical bag. Fortunately for them both, that was highly unlikely. Since Albert’s death, she’d made her way tending to those in need, not those who could pay the most. Thornton, meanwhile, had gone on to become one of the leading physicians of the ton, no doubt raking in hundreds, if not thousands of pounds, all with that same arrogance.

      The thought of it rankled and Jane had to force herself to stop thinking about it as she took the duchess’s coat and hung it on the rack. The others have arrived. Kat’s in a bit of an upset.

      I take it the consult did not go well? Catherine looked concerned for their friend, Katelyn Worthington, the Dowager Countess Tyndale.

      No. Jane glanced at the open doors of the drawing room before she leaned in to whisper, Apparently her client believed sitting for a portrait meant he should be naked.

      The duchess raised her brows. Was he at least a fine specimen?

      From what Kat has said, only if you find a rotund belly and foul breath attractive.

      Why is it always the fat ones who wish to be naked?

      Jane smiled, but said, I fear it was more than that; he also thought he could take certain liberties.

      All amusement fled the duchess’s face. The nerve! I shall see him ostracized. As she was both a duchess and the widow of a former diplomat, Catherine had the clout to do it, too.

      It seems we’ve all had a somewhat difficult week. Fortunately— Her Grace removed something from her reticule. I brought something to distract us. She drew out a small bundle of black silk. Opening the folds of cloth, she displayed a deck of cards.

      Jane frowned. I don’t see how a card game will—

      Not a game. A reading! They are tarot cards. Oh, don’t look like that! It will be fun. After what we’ve all been through, we could use some fun.

      Jane could not disagree. The Widows’ Club, as she liked to call it, had become a collection of close friends, all of whom had suffered a loss—some admittedly greater than others—over the past year. It can’t hurt.

      Exactly. And who knows what the cards will reveal? Catherine smiled mysteriously.

      Jane just shook her head and led the way into the drawing room where flame-haired Kat stalked back and forth before the hearth. Kat could be more mercurial than a feline, and that passion made her the artist she was, yet she was just as quick to laughter as she was to anger. Of the four of them, only she had a child, her daughter Lilly. In some ways, Lilly was Kat writ in miniature with the same red-gold hair, and green eyes. But where Katelyn could be a hurricane, Lilly was the calm eye to her storm. Even now, while her mother paced the room, Lilly quietly played with her dolls.

      Next to her on the floor, her skirts gracefully pooled about her, sat Josephine Whitfield, the last of their group and the youngest. Fair complected, with soot-black hair, and sherry-brown eyes, Josephine had slim lines and a gamine face that belied an innate grace. The most recently widowed, Jo had suffered perhaps the greatest loss among them, having lost both her husband and her father to Napoleon’s ambitions. Yet, of them all, Jane believed Jo had the greatest resilience.  

      Today, however . . . Jane’s gaze narrowed as she looked at her friend. Something was bothering Jo. It showed in the way she kept sliding glances Jane’s way only to look away when their gazes

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