Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

“What?” Words left her. Startled out of her skin, she stared at him. He gazed back, waiting for her. “I thought I’d disappear.”

“Not now. If you leave, what will you do? Get a position as a governess? Not with the best in the land, because they’ll recognise you. Spend the rest of your life caring for other people’s children, deferring to your inferiors, earning a bare living?”

“They’re not my inferiors.”

“Everyone is your inferior.” The words rang around the room.

“You belong here, with me, by my side.”

She swallowed. The prospect tempted her beyond bearing, but she could not accept it. He’d learned about Cockfosters and he wanted to protect her. Her emotions rose up to choke her and she had to fight for her next breath. “I married once before from necessity.” She hadn’t understood her need to keep an option to leave until that very moment, but it was true. She didn’t want anyone to manoeuvre her into marriage ever again. From the moment her mother had seen John Smith at the local assembly, she’d decided he would do for one of her daughters, and Faith proved the lucky one. At least she got to quit the stifling atmosphere of the small town where she’d been born and brought up. This time she would make the decision herself, go into it knowing she wanted it, took responsibility for it. “I’m sorry, John, it’s only—“

He hushed her with a kiss, softly brushing her lips with his. “No matter. Just one thing. If our lovemaking results in a child, you will marry me immediately and without question.” He didn’t make it a question. She understood the reason for it.

“Yes.” If she had a baby, then she wouldn’t deny it its birthright.

She’d marry him. “Does the special licence expire?”

“Not for a while. Don’t leave it too long Faith. If you truly cannot bear it, if you want to go, tell me first. Promise me.”

After his confidences, it was the least she could do. She nodded.

“I’ll tell you. I’m so sorry I made you do this, accept me as your wife, I mean. If you’d let me go that first night, you wouldn’t have needed to.”

“After I saw you in moonlight?” He shook his head, tsking. “You think I could let you go after that?” He stroked her throat, touched his finger to the hollow at the base then trailed down to her breasts.

“Not a chance. Let me try to persuade you to stay. Another day, hmm?”

Two weeks later, Faith was still not married, still living in the large house in Grosvenor Square. Still sleeping in John’s bed.

In her dressing room, she stared at the carpetbag for a full half-minute before she walked away.

She had her new wardrobe. Easter was a recent memory and today she would attend her first society function, a huge ball that the Duchess of Drayton was hosting to mark the opening of the season.

Of course Faith had seen the season, but not from this angle.

Not this close. She’d attended a large society gathering before, but not as one of the anointed, merely a poor relation. She’d worn her green Pomona gown, the one she’d packed away in her bag mainly to stop Turvey disposing of it, or the subdued blue dress, more suitable for balls. Not that anyone noticed her in either outfit. Now she had clothes designed for her by the most sought-after dressmaker in London, a maid who cared for her extensive wardrobe and added the town bronze Faith couldn’t achieve on her own, and a husband. At least, a husband in appearance, if not in truth.

This new gown was grey silk. The folds fell from under her breasts to the floor, the white embroidery delicate and fine, with seed pearls worked into the pattern of snowdrops. At the waistline she wore a jewelled belt, worth more than her house in Red Lion Square she’d guess from the weight of the silver and the size of the pearls studding the centre. Not coloured jewels, of course. She could only wear jet, pearls and diamonds while in mourning.

Only! She laughed, and Turvey lifted her head from where she was ensuring the shawl had no creases or loose threads. The gauzy silk wouldn’t last long, a total indulgence, but Faith had seen it and wanted it.

Turvey threaded silver ribbon through her curls and pinned a swag of pearl flowers to one side of Faith’s dark head. She wore a modest pearl bracelet and earrings.

She hardly recognised herself. Polished to perfection, she tried an experimental swirl and watched the gleaming folds settle around her, the glitter of silver catching the attention before it disappeared.

Turvey turned, apparently satisfied and arranged the shawl over Faith’s arms and shoulders. She’d finished. After an hour and a half, done. It took her half that time, no, less, to prepare herself with Robinson’s help, but for this session Turvey had banished Robinson to fetching, carrying and holding.

Time to go into the main room, and to meet her—she still couldn’t call him husband. She should feel worse about it because in the eyes of God they weren’t married, but secretly, Faith was enjoying her status.

It gave her confidence, in a perverse way, to know nobody realised except herself and her—John. Except he was most anxious to make her a bride. He’d been run off his feet, he claimed, and she believed it. One of his ships had gone missing. It had taken the combined efforts of John and his agent to discover it had blown off course. It arrived in the Netherlands after three days battling high winds. Another two days arguing with the authorities and recovering the vessel, ensuring no one had tampered with the valuable cargo. John had personally supervised the unloading and checked the items off the manifest, an action the dowager had approved of to the extent that everything quivered. While she didn’t have jowls, the loose skin under her chin had trembled with rage.

“This is the new world,” John had said. “Times are changing.

Wealth is no longer only in the land. The Graywoods own a small estate in Nottinghamshire. That is the richest piece of land we possess, not because of what it is, or where it is situated, but because of what lies underneath. One of the richest seams of high quality coal in the country.” He’d paused, exchanging a glance with Faith, but when they were finally alone, he’d told her he believed coal was a key to future prosperity. Faith hadn’t thought of the fuel in that way. After all, she knew nothing about coal, except it kept her warm in the winter and several large manufactories used coal to power their machinery.

She liked that John was so forward-thinking. An exciting new world and she could enter it by his side. If only she’d fall pregnant.

She’d never wanted that before, and the intensity had surprised her, but she was only just due, and she’d never had regular rhythms. It would be some time before she could suspect that she was in the family way.

Foolish to hope. That way lay madness. She had looked into the matter privately and discovered a title could to pass indirectly to someone not related or slightly related. Not passed on, precisely, but the crown could choose to re-create a title for someone else, if heirs of the blood weren’t available. That information pleased the dowager, because it meant her daughters could be instrumental in providing the Earl of Graywood of the second creation. Faith felt comforted, knowing the burden didn’t fall completely on her. It gave her the courage to stay. John was right. Running away was no solution.

She gazed into the mirror above the washstand and lifted her chin in a manner she’d seen several ladies enact. She’d come across a few, shopping or walking in the park, and they’d behaved towards her with icy indifference if the dowager had been present to introduce her. While they’d never treated her any differently, Faith knew they could be more friendly. Perhaps the dowager’s set was naturally arrogant and never noticed.

When Turvey opened the door for her, she sailed into her bedroom, the one she rarely used, only to dress and to rest sometimes, when John was out or busy. She’d practiced her walk, trying for an effortless glide and achieving something closer to her ordinary posture, just a little more elegant. It would do. Nobody expected her to have the deportment of a woman born to the aristocracy. Although they might hold it against her.

John was waiting. He didn’t move towards her but watched her come to him. Only then did he smile, the warm intimate caress he saved for her. “Magnificent,” he said and nodded at Turvey. “You have enhanced her natural beauty. I feared you would turn her into someone I didn’t know.”

Tears pricked Faith’s eyes. “What a lovely thing to say.”

He took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. “Sincerity always is the best compliment and I’m telling nothing but the whole truth.”

She swallowed back her tears. She didn’t want red-rimmed eyes or dark shadows under them, not for her first society appearance.

Telling herself she would hardly be the focus of everyone helped a little. John took her from the room and they went downstairs, where the dowager and her daughters were already waiting. They still wore unrelieved black and they would not attend tonight.

While the dowager had deemed small gatherings appropriate, an event as large as the Drayton ball would not be seemly for the closest relatives of the deceased. Faith had used it as an excuse for them not to go but the older Lady Graywood had dismissed her concerns with a wave. “Go and make your mark. I only ask that you remember the dignity of the family you have married into. I have no doubt you will not disgrace us.”

Almost praise from the dowager. Now Faith saw the light of approval in her eyes. However, she said nothing, merely adjusted the fit of the black armband she wore underneath where the short sleeve of her gown ended. “Give my best regards to the duchess, if you please, and tell her I will be visiting next Tuesday, at her next at home.”