The Countess (23 page)

Evidently John was different from Grandfather, at least in this. He was laughing and talking and hanging on to her every word. It was nauseating.

It didn't hit me until I was chewing on a particularly delicious lobster patty that I was jealous. I nearly dropped my fork I was so horrified at myself. I simply stopped eating and stared down the table. They were speaking to each other, their heads close, hers so blond and fair and his so dark, damn him.

But I couldn't be jealous. It was madness to be jealous. I was married. John could be nothing to me, nothing at all. He was my step-nephew. He would always be my step-nephew. Eventually he would bring his wife to live in this house. Maybe that wife would be Lady Elizabeth Palmer.

He had lied to me, like every man in this world, he had lied. And I was surprised by it, I'll admit it, more fool I. He was showering Lady Elizabeth with all his attention, absolutely deluging her with his humor, his damned wit, his observations, and he was doing this after he had poured out his innards to me but the day before.

He had lied.

On the other hand, I didn't want him to simply hang about, sullen and silent, being unhappy because he couldn't be with me. Besides, I didn't want to be with him. He was too big and too strong—and I nearly laughed my head off at my ridiculous litany.

No, it wasn't ridiculous. He had lied. Like my father. And I thought of his letter just then and realized I hadn't told John about it. Well, there was no need to.

There was nothing for it. I spoke to my neighbors, a duke from Manchester who was as desiccated as old bones and had a wit equally as dry as his bones, and a marchioness who had the biggest bosom I had ever seen in my life, most of it uncovered. I tried desperately not to stare at that bosom, unlike most of the gentlemen nearby.

I was vivacious. I dredged up some wit, and laughed at theirs. The marchioness with the bosom turned out to be rather amusing, what with her tales of all her little Pekingese dogs, of which she had a hearty dozen, all of them sweethearts. The desiccated duke loved to gossip about folk in London I'd never heard of, but I laughed and carried on just as I was supposed to. I had to make Lawrence proud of me.

As for how I looked, my own gown was glittery silver, and I knew I looked very fine indeed. Perhaps I didn't have as much white bosom as Lady Elizabeth, and my hair was curly and red, brown, blond, and rust, all blended together like a bunch of fallen autumn leaves; and perhaps it was not as stylish as hers, but—I had to stop this. I didn't own John. I couldn't ever have him.

I was an idiot.

How could I have changed so much? He was still a man, actually a man I had seen on three different occasions in London and managed to dismiss all three times. Only I hadn't, not really.

I had made a huge mess of things.

But most importantly, right now, I was the hostess. I wasn't a provincial miss. I was a countess, and even though I was young, I knew what I was about. I knew what to do when. And when I rose to lead the ladies away, I looked only at my husband and smiled at him. He nodded.

“Gentlemen,” I said, my voice pitched to the exact volume to gain their collective attention, “the ladies will leave you to your port.” They barely paid any attention to my announcement at all. Most of them were happily drunk. They were looking forward to port and brandy and God knows what else. I turned at the doorway, and called out, more loudly this time, “Ladies, we will have our brandy in the drawing room. We will discuss the news about Napoleon, if there is any news worthy enough to speak about. We will discuss which of the gentlemen present at dinner is the most handsome, the most literate, the most charming.”

Several of the women laughed, several even patted me on the arm. Some disapproved, but who cared? I didn't dare look back to see what my husband thought of that parting shot.

The men had heard every word I had said. Now they were all talking at once. I heard outrage, laughter, yells.

Lawrence would probably blast me later.

I was all the talk in the drawing room. A good half of the ladies had a snifter of brandy. We did
speak of Napoleon for a bit, but soon turned to his poor wife, the Austrian princess, Marie-Louise, and how Napoleon, so desperate for an heir, that he no sooner had her on French soil, than he dragged her to his tent and consummated the marriage before it had even happened.

“Absolutely shocking what men do to women,” said Lady Elizabeth Palmer, too beautiful for her own good, and now she was actually showing interest in something other than fashion and gossip. “Now, who is ready to vote for the most charming gentleman at the dinner table?”

Most of the ladies laughed at that.

Lady Caldecote, waving her fan vigorously even as she sat very close to the fireplace, said to me, “That was very clever of you, my dear young lady. You certainly got their attention. I do wonder what they're talking about now?”

“Naturally, they are discussing which of them will be elected the most charming by us,” Lady Elizabeth said. Then she laughed and nodded to me, as if seeing me with new eyes. “That was clever of you.”

The marchioness with the immense bosom said, “I heard it said that Napoleon had many mistresses and that it infuriated Josephine. She began to tell anyone who would listen that Napoleon wasn't all that much of a man, if you know what I mean.”

It was obvious that I didn't know what she meant, because when I said brightly, “Well, if he continues with mistresses now that he is married to Marie-Louise, then he surely isn't much of a man at all.” Every one of the sixteen ladies in the drawing room stared at me like I was an idiot.

Elizabeth Palmer laughed. “My dear countess, you
are a married lady. I can't imagine that Lawrence hasn't showed you exactly how much of a man he is.”

I just looked at her.

My precious Miss Crislock said comfortably, “Lord Devbridge is very solicitous of his precious young wife. He is patient. He is understanding. Do give me a snifter of brandy, my dear.”

With those well-intentioned words, the ladies didn't desist, rather, they crowded around me. There were raised eyebrows. There were snickers. There were smiles barely hidden behind hands. Amelia stayed back. Miss Gillbank looked frantic.

“You mean that you are still a virgin, my lady?” Mrs. Birkenhead said, leaning so close I nearly gagged on her heavy perfume. Attar of roses, I thought, splashed on much too liberally.

Amelia cleared her throat, loudly. “I suggest that Andrea play a Mozart sonata for us. She is very talented. She can also sing, only not as well as she plays. Come along, Andy, perform, now.”

“I doubt her performance could top the one she gave to the gentlemen when we all left the dining room.” This was from a motherly lady whose name I couldn't remember.

I walked to the pianoforte and began to play. I played the sonata well enough. When I looked up, it was to see my husband standing very close to me.

I said quickly, just as soon as the applause died down, “I'm sorry, Lawrence. The devil made me do it.”

He laughed, turned to the gentleman at his elbow, cleared his throat, and announced to the room at
large, “My wife informed me that the devil made her do it.”

My reputation, for whatever that was worth, was made.

I had been pronounced an original, Miss Crislock told me much later. When next I was in London, I would be at the very center of things.

“What things?” I asked her.

“Parties and such, I imagine,” she told me, patted my cheek, then gave me a very long look. “You don't look happy, Andy. What's wrong, dear?”

I nearly swallowed my teeth. “Nothing, Milly. I am quite the perfect young lady.”

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Lawrence escorted me to The Blue Room.

He looked down at me, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “You continually surprise me, Andy.”

“I hope most of the surprises are good ones.”

“At least half. Don't worry, this one was delightful. The gentlemen could speak of nothing else but who was the most charming, the most literate, the most amusing of us all.”

“That's what Lady Elizabeth Palmer said the gentlemen would do. Actually, I surprised myself. Most of our guests are very good sports, sir.”

“Yes, they are. They like you. I hadn't expected it, truth be told, you are so very young. You were charming.”

“Now you sound as if you're no longer certain you liked what I did.”

“Do I? How silly of you to think that. Good night, my child.” And he walked away.

Did he really think of me as a child?

E
arly the next morning I was spreading a rather noxious smelling potion, one of my grandfather's recipes, on the healing cuts in Small Bess's back. There were seven deep cuts forming a nearly perfect circle, about a quarter of an inch between them, and looking at them, seeing those ghastly sharp barbs digging into her back, made me see red. The monster who had done this deserved to be shot between the eyes, by me, with my new derringer.

“I see she is better.”

It was John. I turned slowly. I didn't want to see him. On the other hand, I wanted more than anything to just stand here and stare at him until Small Bess kicked me out of her stall.

I shook my head free of those futile thoughts. “Yes, she is better, much better, thanks to Rucker, but it still makes me so angry, I want to explode. It is very early. I am surprised that you are awake.”

He looked me up and down, and I knew what he saw. I was wearing a very old dark brown wool cloak and stout boots that were so scuffed they could have
been used for goat food at least a year past. My hair was plastered to my head and pulled back into a knot at the nape of my neck. Already corky curls were escaping. Then he smiled. “You're awake. Why shouldn't I be?”

“You were still all cozy with Lady Elizabeth Palmer when I finally went upstairs well toward the middle of the night.”

I know he heard the acrimony in my voice. The man wasn't a dolt. Then he had the gall to smirk at me. “Actually, you don't have to say her entire name. Lady Elizabeth is quite enough. There is no other guest here quite like her, don't you agree?”

I did agree, but I wasn't about to tell him that, which didn't stop him, not for even half a second.

“It is interesting that you noticed. I can see that it would bother you to speak of it further—your lips are just a thin seam of a line—so I will move smartly on to something more benign. Actually, many of the gentlemen are already up, and if they're not yet talking, they are drinking coffee and reading the newspapers. Ah, there was a bit of conversation about you, since Uncle Lawrence wasn't present. You have caused quite a stir, Andy. I can't imagine that my uncle will be very pleased.”

“For your information, I already apologized to him. I am not a complete dunce. I apologized immediately. Surely that would make him realize that I was very serious and contrite.”

“No, I'm not talking about your brazen little performance at the dining room door with all the ladies flocked around you. No, it was the other.”

He had my attention now. “What other? I didn't say anything else, I swear it. I listened a lot. I
laughed. I played Mozart, not badly if I say so myself, but I swear, I didn't say anything else to embarrass him.”

John began to laugh. “My, my, you really don't know, do you?”

I just stared at him. I began to lay the soft white cloths back on Small Bess's back and gently smooth them down. Small Bess twisted her head about to see what I was doing. I petted her and lightly stroked her neck, then looked back at him. “No. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I guess that you don't,” he said slowly, his head cocked to one side, a habit of his that I was getting accustomed to. He did it whenever he was puzzled or undecided about something.

“Obviously you want to tell me, so get on with it. You have all the subtlety of a fanatic vicar. What did I say that was so embarrassing to Lawrence?”

“Everyone now knows that you are still a virgin.”

I jumped so high Small Bess kicked out with her back legs. It took me several moments to calm her, then I said, furious and appalled, “That's impossible. I mean it's true, but I didn't say anything about that. It would have been absurd to say that, and disloyal, and above all, surely stupid. Can you imagine me turning to the marchioness and saying, “Well, my lady, here I am married to this very nice man, and I'm a virgin, you know.”

His hands were fists at his sides, I saw them, then they eased again. He flexed his fingers, and said, “No, you didn't do that. I believe the ladies were discussing the fact that Napoleon isn't reputed to have much in the way of, well, endowment, or size.”

“What endowment? What size? You mean that he
isn't very tall? I have heard that said often. There's nothing in that, surely. What does that have to do with virginity?”

He rolled his eyes. Then he looked remorseful, and that surprised me, because I knew that he meant it. He was embarrassed. He was sorry he had brought it up. “I want you to forget it. I meant to tease you about your damned naïveté, but I cannot. Andy, just forget all about it, all right? You're innocent, and it is just fine. Don't let anyone tell you differently. There is nothing for you to apologize about to my uncle, nothing at all.”

“But—”

He lightly touched his fingertips to my lips. His damned voice was tender, with just a touch of humor. “No, Andy, just forget it. If you hear anything more about this, any little jabs or comments, just ignore them, all right?”

I nodded uncertainly.

“Let me be even more clear. Anytime in the next three days that you hear pointed little comments specifically about Napoleon, you simply keep your mouth shut, you promise?”

“All right. But I don't—”

He said, “Small Bess is much better. However, you cannot ride her for weeks to come. And no, forget about riding Tempest. He wouldn't need to throw you into a rabbit hole. He would just pound one into the ground and toss you in. He would eat you along with his oats for breakfast. He would—”

“That's really quite enough. These flights of fancy merely reflect what you would like to happen if ever I have the gall to ride your horse.”

“Possibly. Now, you should ask Uncle Lawrence
if he has another mount suitable for you. You will not even feed Tempest. He would gnaw off your hand. Oh, yes, one other matter. Don't try to get rid of Boynton, my valet, who will now be following you everywhere.” He turned then and left the stable.

I stared after him. Boynton would be following me?

What the devil was that all about? The warning about Tempest was nothing new, but this size thing that had to do with Napoleon, this was very strange indeed. Well, I would forget it, all of it. Boynton following me. I felt safer already.

As it turned out, I didn't have much free time that day to fret about anything except the ball.

The only time I had ever seen servants more excited than right here and right now, had been at my own coming-out ball. Even Brantley unbent enough to yell at one of the footmen for dropping a potted palm in the entrance hall. It rolled into a suit of armor and sent it crashing to the floor. Brantley never yelled. It was seen by all the servants as a good omen.

I laughed and laughed, I just couldn't help it. Brantley stopped yelling and looked so chagrined that I wanted to console him, something I knew he wouldn't ever accept, and so I said nothing, just grinned shamelessly at him.

I came downstairs that evening wearing my beautiful new pale blue silk gown, the exact shade of my eyes, Belinda had assured me. It was cut low to show off my bosom, something my modiste had told me was simply imperative to do or I would look like a dowd, and thus reflect on her. Then, she assured me, no one would come to her shop ever again, and she
would starve in a ditch and it would be my fault. I thought that was a bit dramatic on her part. After all, how could my bosom be the reason for her possible demise? But I allowed her to cut the gown as low as she wanted. I still thought there was too much white flesh showing and said so to Belinda. At that point, Belinda gasped with outrage. When I suggested wearing a nice shawl over it, I thought she would swoon she was so distraught.

So, with my bosom on full display, I walked down the wide staircase and immediately ran into Lady Elizabeth Palmer.

We eyed each other like two fighting cocks, not that I'd ever actually seen cocks do this, but I could imagine it, once I stood eye to eye with her. I was the hostess, I was charming. I had no choice, curse it. “Good evening, Lady Elizabeth. May I say that your gown is lovely?”

“Of course you may,” she said, then looked at me full on. “Somehow I hadn't expected to see you show off this much of yourself. You seem so very young. But you are quite adequate, Andrea—”

“Ah, do call me Andy.”

“Very well. Yes, all the gentlemen are sure to agree with me, particularly your dear husband who has you on the longest leash I've ever heard about for a new husband.”

“I don't know what you mean, but let me assure you that I am not a dog. I don't even use a leash on George. Would you like to meet George?”

“I have met your dog. He would not leave John alone. We were forced to bring him with us on our lovely stroll in the east gardens or he would have barked down the house. He is the strangest color—
it is mustard, a particular vile shade of mustard. In any case, what I meant about a very long leash is that your husband is treating you like a young schoolgirl who needs to be cosseted and protected—which is the last thing you need—what with his waiting to bed you. Until when? When you have gained your twenty-first year?”

“I have reached it.”

“Ah, then you have this religious vow to remain chaste? And Lawrence is actually giving you your way? Everyone agrees that it is extraordinary.

“Now, your gown is quite lovely as well. The pale blue is unusual, a delicious shade. How odd that you are dazzling every gentleman who happens by with this display of flesh, but you refuse your husband.”

I couldn't let all of that just go by. There was simply just too much to ignore. My charm slipped. I was ready to do battle. “I like to dazzle gentlemen. I rather thought, though, that my hair would be the focal point of my presentation this evening, not my bosom. My husband says that my hair combines more colors than all the autumn leaves he has ever seen, all of them mixed together. He admires my hair. All the gentlemen are sure to admire my hair as well.” I paused a moment, then sighed. “Although, to be perfectly honest, which is sometimes difficult, I must say that I think you have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. It has given me some very uncomfortable moments, what with realizing that I am jealous of you. Well, there you have it. I do hope you enjoy yourself this evening. Are you coming to the drawing room?”

“In a while,” she said, those beautiful eyes of hers gleaming at me.

“Oh, yes, Lady Elizabeth. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about Napoleon's size? His endowment?”

I thought she would burst her seams she sucked in so much air. She stared at me as if I had just told her that there was lint in her eyebrows, then she started laughing. Laughing until she was crying and hiccuping as she turned away and walked gracefully up the stairs. I could still hear her laughter when she gained the landing and turned into the west wing.

I only wished I knew exactly how and why I had managed to fell her.

It was perhaps the twentieth ball I had attended since my coming out, but it was the very first ball where I had been in charge, from assembling the invitation list, to checking that all the sheets were in prime shape for fifteen sets of guests, to the cleaning of the huge ballroom. In many cases, I was cleaning alongside the servants, something I had grown up doing at Deerfield Hall. The servants were beaming on the day of the ball. They were pleased with themselves, and they were pleased with me. Brantley never beamed, but he did nod to me, in approval, several times during the evening.

I knew I would never remember all the courses served at dinner, even though I had spent hours on the menu, several times actually arguing with Mrs. Redbreast and Cook with a good deal of passion, which seemed to please both of them no end. As I watched the endless stream of platters laid with great care along the huge long table, I was nonetheless counting. There were to be forty-two dishes in all. There were forty-three. Goodness, how had that happened?

There were platters of baked sole, oyster patties, game pies, garnished tongue, crimped cod, pork cutlets, it just went on and on. Between the soufflé of rice and the Nesselrode pudding, there was something to please the most fickle palate. I was too excited to eat, nearly floating two inches off my chair.