Courting the Countess (15 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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“I do, or rather I did. Oh, it is complicated. Suffice to say, Brook’s unexpected appearance at Tipton’s house has caused quite a stir within the family. Once word reaches polite society of her return, I predict she will suffer dearly for her odious husband’s misdeeds.”
Amara looked miserable. Mallory wondered if she was recalling how she had not been above using the countess’s absence to her advantage by telling the family that she was visiting the widow when, in truth, she had been alone with Bedegrayne. His accidental encounter with Brook in Cornwall had revealed his sister’s duplicity; otherwise she might have gotten away with it.
“I could never resist a notorious lady,” he said, wryly acknowledging it was the key to many of his troubles. “If I offer my assistance in helping the countess, will you stop worrying and allow your husband to take you home?”
Her hopeful appreciation as she rushed up to hug him almost made him regret the casual lies he had spun for his little sister. “You are a good man, Mallory Claeg,” she said fiercely.
Returning her hug, he closed his eyes and let her believe one more lie.
“This is how I imagined it, Cousin,” Ham said, caught up in the excitement of the evening as they ascended the grand double staircase of the King’s Theatre. Brook was grateful for the earl’s arm, because the real performance was about to take place in one of the theater boxes rather than on the stage.
With her mother’s assistance, Brook was fashionably attired. The pale green crape train dress she had chosen was worn over white satin. The long crape sleeves were also white and the bodice was in the French style, covering just above the swell of her breasts. Her long hair had been pulled up by a twisting rope of pearls and green tourmaline, with the loose ends a dangling array of curls. White kid gloves and shoes completed the flattering effect.
“I prefer Drury Lane,” May complained, looking incomparable in pale blue. Her parents and her mother-in-law completed their small party.
Not even his sister’s grumbling could sink the earl’s jollity. “For opera ballet, this stage is preferred above all. Besides,” he said, patting Brook’s hand on his arm. “This evening we embark on the first of many such adventures. We will get to Drury Lane, May, just be patient.”
Brook sensed Ham’s sister was not satisfied with his response. She could feel the prickle of awareness as the other
woman glowered at the back of her head. The suggestion to attend tonight’s benefit had been hers and May knew it. Whether the woman resented Brook’s influence over Ham or simply was unhappy with the choice of entertainment, she could only speculate. Regardless, she found the animosity between them tiring. One day in the near future, she and May Hamblin were going to have a private chat.
“Do we have a private box, my lord?” Brook’s mother interjected, sounding as if she had spent her entire life sitting in private boxes and would settle for no less.
“Naturally,” Elthia, Lady A’Court, snapped, outraged that her standing in society had been questioned. “Where else would the A’Courts sit? The pit?”
Mr. Ludlow, too familiar with their baiting discourse, said, “I believe Mrs. Ludlow was asking if the family had leased a box for the season.”
Slightly mollified by the explanation, the dowager replied, “Our patronage of the arts has been somewhat limited this generation, sir. Vainglorious actresses were not my son’s passion. A practical man, he had invested his resources in Newmarket. Lyon had a keen eye for prime horseflesh. It is a pity this useful skill was not applicable to the human animal.”
It did not take any insight to guess who among them reminded the dowager of her son’s failings. Usually impassive in her silence, Brook amazed herself saying, “Madam, the travesty is that your son treated everyone like animals.” Women, in Lyon’s opinion, were willful creatures that needed a man’s unyielding dominance.
“How dare you speak thusly about your own husband?” the older woman demanded, shocked that anyone dared to speak ill of her son.
May muffled her indiscreet giggle. Ham quelled her with a patriarchal glare. Leaning down so his mouth almost touched Brook’s ear, he whispered, “My dear cousin, whatever Lyon’s faults, airing them in public benefits no one.”
“I thought that was the entire point of this evening, my lord,” she challenged, letting her voice rise in volume. Brook halted on the landing, forcing the people behind them from skirting their little group with undisguised interest. “You and the rest of the family are showing me off to the
ton,
proving once and for all that Lyon Meylan, the former Lord A’Court, was not the gentleman they all thought he was—a sadistic madman who broke his pretty bride!”
The elder countess shook with rage. “You, madam, are the one who is mad if you expect us to believe your lies. Silence her at once!” she demanded of the earl.
Before Brook could defend herself from her mother-in-law’s outrageous accusation, Ham gripped her elbow firmly and steered her away from the dowager.
“Lady A’Court,” Brook heard her mother say in an apologetic tone that only fueled her ire. “You must forgive my daughter’s behavior. Returning to town, where she and your son spent their married life together, has been more upsetting than either one of us could have predicted.”
Brook could not bear to hear another word. “Release me at once, my lord,” she said through clenched teeth. “You are calling attention to us.” She pulled her elbow from his harsh grip and rubbed the abused limb.
“No, my lady,” the earl said, clearly aggravated. “I credit you for any attention we have garnered.”
Brook’s lips trembled. “She says the most awful things to me.”
“The lady has been troubled since her son’s death.”
“I was Lyon’s wife. My troubles started long before his death,” Brook said flatly, her hostile stance daring him to deny her accusation.
Ham had never seen her so upset. His expression ran the gamut from anger to helpless confusion. It was obvious that he did not know how best to handle her volatile disposition.
“She has suffered a great loss and speaks out of pain. You
have always understood and been patient with her. Why are you acting in this manner?”
She waved away his excuses. “Why is she deserving of patience and understanding and I am not?”
“Good heavens, is that not A’Court’s widow?” a woman whispered to her escort as they passed.
The question reminded Brook of her surroundings. Frustration had impelled her out of her silence. Wariness was beginning to slip into her cracking composure as she realized how public their altercation had become. Ham took advantage of her hesitation and seized her by the arm and moved them farther away from the curious crowd.
“This tantrum is beneath you.” He nervously nodded to a passing couple who evidently were acquainted with him.
His withdraw of support was just another betrayal. “And your lecture is presumptuous. If being seen with me has somehow tarnished your sterling character, then might I suggest that you take me home.” With Mr. Ludlow’s assistance, she could be on her way to Loughwydde at dawn.
Comprehension had Ham lifting his brows. “And reward you for your atrocious manners? I think not. Was that your goal all along? Well, madam, your efforts have failed.” He leaned, intimidating her with his proximity. He spoke slowly and distinctly, as if she were a child. “Might
I
suggest, Cousin, that you take a few minutes of privacy to compose yourself? When you feel more like yourself again, you may join us in the theater box.” He gave her away from him as if he had found touching her offensive. “Do not even think of defying me by leaving this building.”
Brook turned on her soft heel and walked away from him while he was delivering his threat. Boorish, sniveling hypocrite! She was too angry to think of crying over his dreadful conduct. Moving blindly down a narrow passage, she hoped to find a quiet place where she could calm down. As much as she regretted agreeing with the pompous earl, in her current
mood she was likely to push both May and her mother-in-law out of the theater box.
Brook checked box after box, discovering all of them occupied. She returned to one of the lobbies. Crossing the room, she ignored the fruit woman offering to sell her the libretto and slipped into one of the salons. The chamber was not empty, she discovered. A gentleman and his lady stood near the stove. Disappointed, Brook attempted to back out before they noticed her.
Her movements caught the gentleman’s attention. He glanced over at her and froze her with his unwavering stare. Murmuring something to his companion, Brook was about to apologize for her intrusion when the lady whirled and gaped.
“Brook!”
Recognizing her friend Amara Bedegrayne did not ease Brook’s discomfort or her desire to leave the room. She backed into something solid while her tongue sought for a lucid comment. Checking behind her, she merely gaped at the cynical twist of Mallory Claeg’s mouth.
“Running away, Countess?”
 
Mallory leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. His position effectively cut off any opportunity for the countess to escape. He did not know what had fouled her temper, but her distraction had allowed him to follow her through the various passages of the theater house undetected. Had the woman no sense? Wandering about dim passages only invited mischief. He had been contemplating instigating a little of his own when she stumbled upon Amara and Bedegrayne.
“I am so happy you have returned,” his sister was saying; her high spirits were genuine. “You look wonderful. Do you not agree, Brock?”
“Aye, dove,” Bedegrayne readily agreed, meeting Mallory’s gaze with a silent question.
He might have fooled his sister, but his subtle possessive stance was recognizable to another possessive male. Mallory shrugged, not disputing the other man’s conjecture.
“What about you, Brother?” Amara asked, searching for anything to alleviate the tension in the room.
Mallory leveled his gaze on the countess. “The clouds disperse in the brilliance of her beauty.” As she had discarded the dull hues of her widow weeds, the comeliness she had often tried to conceal was wholly displayed. If they had been alone, he would have demonstrated how pleased he was by her transformation.
His sister’s censorious scowl informed him that she believed he was insincere in his praise. Women were truly puzzling. Wondering if he had insulted his sister by excluding her, he added, “Puss, you are rather fetching, too.”
It was the countess’s turn to give him an unreadable glance. He was already regretting bringing them together if all they were going to do was glare at him.
Shaking her head in disgust, she said to Amara, “I heard that you married Mr. Bedegrayne.” Brook pointedly did not reveal that Mallory was most likely her source. “And a babe arriving at the end of summer. It appears double congratulations are in order.”
“I wish you could have been present for the wedding. I had tried to send word out to you. However, no one seemed to know your whereabouts.”
Brook glanced away guiltily. It appeared Mallory’s sister could not resist extracting a little revenge for what she perceived as a betrayal of friendship when the countess disappeared.
Since he was responsible for maneuvering her into this prickly situation, he felt determined to assist her whether she welcomed his intervention or not. “When faced with loss, we all deal with grief in our own way. It is not like you to judge so harshly, Amara.”
“I am not,” his sister denied, her lower lip jutting out at his scolding. “I just have so many questions—”
“And this is not the place to conduct an interrogation,” Bedegrayne teased, coming to Mallory’s aid. “Why do we not adjourn to our box before we miss the opera ballet you were so adamant to attend?”
“I must go, too,” the countess said regretfully, and rose.
Amara jumped up with a grace that belied her growing abdomen. “Join us. I insist.” Now that she had found her old friend she had no intention of allowing Brook to escape.
The countess gave Mallory an apprehensive look. “The party I arrived with is expecting me. I have already been gone too long.”
“I will warrant your family would be tolerant to old friends laying claim to your attention.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “You have not met the elder Lady A’Court. She has little acquaintance with tolerance. Since I have already managed to upset her, the rest of my family will expect me to make reparation before the evening has concluded.”
“What have you done?” Mallory asked, not caring if the question seemed rude to Amara and Bedegrayne.
“Spoken too freely.” The countess impulsively embraced Amara. “Might I call on you one day?”
His sister nodded. “I will be very vexed if you do not.”
“Hmm, I seem to have that effect on everyone I encounter these days. It was a pleasure to see you again.” Her neck was a graceful curve as she inclined her head and curtsied. “Gentlemen.”
Before Mallory could unwind from his casual stance near the wall, Bedegrayne said, “Lady A’Court, my family would find my actions reprehensible if I permitted you to wander these dark passages unescorted.”
“That is absurd, I am—”
“I will return the countess to the protective bosom of her
family,” Mallory said crisply, causing Amara to stare at him flabbergasted.
Brook finally deigned to look at him. The temper he had viewed earlier in her expressive eyes was now directed at him. “No.”
She offered no flowery apology, nor did she fumble her way through a pathetic lie. Like a mythic queen she judged him and found him lacking. By damn if he was letting her get away with it!
“Reconsider,” he said, countering her refusal with a blatant warning. The lady was being unashamedly difficult, a vengeful tactic for his arrogance during their parting. She could sink her sharp claws into him at her leisure now that she was in town. Women’s volatile nature was just another aspect he admired about them.
“Brook, please forgive my brother. His wit usually rivals his tact. Lamentably, both are absent this evening,” Amara said, not prepared to forgive her brother even if her friend was willing.

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