Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

“Some people may go hang,” he said bluntly, then swung his attention to Faith.

She braced herself but she saw only kindness and polite interest.

“Would you care to accompany me? The offices are on the docks, so a trifle inaccessible for a woman of sensibility but accompanied by your husband it would be unexceptional.”

Why would he want her? Faith had no idea, but she liked the notion. “Yes please.”

He gave her a sweet smile. “I prefer my wife to know who she may call on in the event of my demise. Mr. Pickering is definitely someone you should know.”

He kept saying that word, ‘wife.’ She felt uncomfortable when he said it, especially when he used the word with such ease. “I don’t want to think about that,” she said without considering her remark, because his use of the other word had unnerved her. It revealed too much. She’d always yearned for him, dreamed of him, but when she finally achieved her aim, it had been so much more than she’d imagined.

The corner of his mouth moved but she did not mistake the hunger that entered his gaze. “Thank you. None of us wish to think about it, but in that eventuality, it must be considered, and it would be better if you knew the key people.”

“I don’t think my son mentioned a Pickering.” Concerned at the quaver in her ladyship’s voice, Faith turned her attention back to her, but as usual, the lady showed no emotion.

“Pickering is my agent,” he said. “He is a sound man. I intend to ask him to examine the shipping concerns of the earldom and compile a report for me.”

The dowager showed no response, only a shrug. “You will, I’m sure, excuse me from such considerations.” She shot Faith a glare.

“It’s not a woman’s affair.” She seemed most insistent on that point.

Had her husband instilled it in her?

“Indeed,” she said immediately, and then saw a way she could mollify the countess without upsetting her. “But if my husband wishes me to meet the gentleman, then I am obliged to comply.”

The responding nod was of the infinitesimal variety. “You are right. A shame, because I was planning to introduce you to my dressmaker, who will call tomorrow.”

“I called on Cerisot,” she said, “And she wishes to supply me with some mourning gowns. I didn’t want to put your woman to the trouble.”

The air froze as the dowager took a deep breath, swelling her formidable bosom and the light of anger sparkled in her eyes.

“Cerisot and Dalkeith have been at odds this last five years. It is doubtful they will serve the same establishment. I have patronised Dalkeith for that time, but I fear she’ll take umbrage if Cerisot sets foot across this threshold.” She leaned forward, as if to impart confidential information. Faith resisted the urge to lean further back in her seat. “Most of society considers Cerisot a little too daring, too dashing. She serves the racier set. It isn’t something the Countess of Graywood must encourage.”

“By the racier set,” Faith said coldly, “Do you mean the likes of Lady Caroline Lamb, or the demimonde?” She’d wager she saw nobody of that nature in the shop that morning.

“The former,” her ladyship said coldly.

“While her behaviour might be seen as regrettable, her ton is impeccable,” Faith pointed out. “If I ask her she might consent to accept you as clients. But we should make it clear to both women that what they do outside this house is their concern.” A notion struck her. “Or we may foster the rivalry. It would certainly bring us to the forefront of society.”

The dowager shuddered. “In a way I cannot think either of us would wish.”

“Oh I don’t know,” John said, “It could serve our purpose.” He exchanged a smile with Faith she couldn’t resist sharing. So wicked, it reminded her of last night. But then her mind hadn’t been far from that experience for most of the day, despite the rapidity of events.

“I placed orders with Cerisot for full mourning and half mourning.”

“Ah, then you may tell her that her services aren’t needed once those orders are placed.”

“I don’t think so,” said Faith. “I intend to give her a fair trial.”

Her ladyship snorted. “I hardly believe she’ll starve for want of our business, and why should we worry ourselves with that in any case?”

Faith didn’t answer.

When John got to his feet, she did too. “I think I’ll go upstairs and rest.” She didn’t miss the gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll escort you.”

Just outside the room, she leaned towards him. “Is that what they’re calling it? Escorting?”

“Wicked woman,” he said without heat, but with a great deal of feeling.

The earl and countess had the magnificent suite on the second floor. Two bedrooms, a sitting room and associated powder rooms, each of a size that would take up two of her rooms in her house in Red Lion Square. The furnishings were formal, especially the Countess’s. Faith examined the tester bed, with columns carved in a severe classical style, the dull green upholstery, the daybed that didn’t appear comfortable at all.

“I think we’ll redecorate,” he said from behind her. “The earl’s bedroom is dark. Very old-fashioned. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” she said with relief and turned to face him. He stood closer than she’d thought, and he caught her upper arms as she threatened to topple forward. With a huge upswelling of relief, she closed her eyes and stretched up for his kiss. He didn’t disappoint, but gave her the embrace she needed. Enclosing her in his arms, he pressed his lips against hers and she returned it, opened her mouth so he could slide his tongue inside and caress her more intimately.

His hands worked the fastenings at the back of her gown, and the fabric fell to her feet. When he broke the kiss, she glanced down.

“More green than black, but that gown has accompanied me a long way. I’ll be sorry to see the end of it.”

“You could keep it.”

“I think I will.” She might need it.

He stroked her back, turning her attention back to his face.

Much more pleasant than her old gown. “You’ll have new ones.”

He kissed her forehead. “Which reminds me. We are now free to marry, if we wish.” He watched her, eyes coolly perceptive. What did he expect to see?

She jerked away from him in an action that made her stumble over her gown. “You’re serious?”

“Indeed. I visited Doctor’s Commons and had a discreet word with the official there. I told him that we had a field marriage and we’ve lost the papers, so in the eyes of the law it might not be considered proper. Since we have no children, the question of legitimacy hasn’t emerged—yet.” He stepped over the gown and cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “After last night, it’s possible. If we have a child, if that child is a son, I want him to become the Earl of Graywood, not watch a younger but legitimate brother take that honour. I want us married, tied up tight, Faith in that circumstance.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I’m eight and twenty, and I’ve never conceived.”

“If it happens, I want it right. Faith, we have a difficult hill to climb.” He paused. “That is, I do and in my selfishness I want someone capable by my side as I do it, someone I can trust to support me. You, I want you. In the army I saw you cope with the worst conditions imaginable and do it with aplomb. Whatever else you did, I understand.” His tightened mouth didn’t say that to her.

She’d taken his pension and his memory, and traduced it.

He was her employer, and he wanted her to do a job. When that had finished, she would leave and most likely they’d never meet again. She would accept the tools to do the job properly—the clothes and the luxurious surroundings—but she’d leave them behind when she went. If she forgot that, she’d be lost.

She didn’t want to marry him with the memory of what she had done hanging over her. “I don’t think I will fall pregnant.” She had serious doubts that she would. Even if she did, surely it would take more than once to reinvigorate organs that had lain moribund for the past two years.

“You don’t want to marry me?” He pasted on a warm smile, but she could tell the difference between his sincerity and the way he could act the kind, understanding man.

“I didn’t say that,” she said and in the same instant realised she meant nothing of the sort. She wanted to marry him. He had a core of integrity she’d always admired. Not to mention that she’d seen him naked now, and lost her breath. But she wouldn’t marry him this way. “I am the impostor who fooled you. I promised to amend for that by behaving as your wife until you don’t need me any more.”

“Remember that.” He said it firmly. She had no doubt he’d let her know when he’d done with her. But for now, she could enjoy him. Refusing to allow sadness to infuse her thoughts now, she moved closer, rubbed her body against his before she shrugged and smiled. “As you will.” She turned away to allow him to loosen her stays. She didn’t need it, but she wanted his hands on her. She still wore her everyday stays, the ones with the laces down the back and the hooks down the front. In any case she never wore them so tight they restricted her movements. But she loved the feeling of his fingers on her back, warm and capable, helping her.

If she couldn’t have him much longer, she’d make the most of him while he was here. “We have an hour before we have to dress for dinner.” Turning around, she put on a smile she meant. She saw the birth of his response in his eyes.

She stretched up for his kiss, having to stand on her toes now she had discarded her shoes. He smiled against her mouth before deepening the embrace and giving her the kiss she wanted, open mouthed and lascivious.