Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

The dowager, standing within earshot, gave the quartet a signal and they struck up an appropriate tune. Without waiting for her permission, the duke swept her into his arms and on to the floor, straight into a waltz.

“I learned this with John,” she said remembering the night. It helped to go back, to do justice to a man who, while not perfect, had a wonderful sense of adventure that had persuaded her to leave the dour vicarage and venture on the journey that had led to Waterloo.

“John Smith?” he murmured.

“He loved dancing, and he taught me how to laugh.” Her gaze flicked up to her partner, startled at making such a revelation at such a time.

“He was a competent soldier,” the duke replied. “If he were not, I’d have heard of it.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Wellington was known as meticulous, despite his statements of a moment ago. “Did you suspect anything before you arrived tonight, sir?”

He didn’t prevaricate. It wasn’t his way. “Yes, I did. I remembered the commendations after the battle. Your husband was among them. Whatever drew Graywood to admit to the marriage, I believe it was with the best of intentions. I owe him. He was injured in the service of his country, under my command and I did not do enough afterwards to ensure the veracity of the hurried account from the surgeons. As it was, John Smith was buried as Graywood. That will be rectified.”

They executed a turn, and every eye was on them. She forced a smile. “Thank you. But I forced Graywood into the deception. He returned to England and discovered he was married. I did wrong, sir.”

“Then you must endeavour to make it right. He is devoted to you. I understood that as soon as he began to talk about you when he visited me. Do nothing to damage that or I will personally see to it you are punished.”

She didn’t doubt it. He spoke too firmly for her to think of any other course of action. If John wanted her gone, she’d go. She didn’t consider anything else.

The dance finished. After ensuring she had a cold glass of wine to refresh and fortify her, Wellington took her back to where John stood on the edge of the dance floor. Of Roker and Carlisle there was no sign. When she glanced around, John took her hand. “You will never see them again. I promise you that.”

She nodded. John smiled at her. “If they are capable of committing such a deception they do not deserve to remain in my service. I have dismissed them both.”

“Good thing too,” Wellington put in.

Without his word, this evening could have turned out very differently. As it was, Roker and Carlisle had planted the seeds of their own destruction. After such a damning statement, nobody would expect John to continue to employ them.

Suddenly, to her utter shock, he went down on one knee before her. “Since it appears that the records of our marriage have disappeared, I have the great fortune to do this again. Faith Smith, will you do me the honour of becoming my bride? Of allowing me to cherish and care for you all the days of my life?”

She didn’t realise she was crying until a tear touched the corner of her mouth, the wet drop startling her into a response. “John, are you sure?” She meant she’d leave if he wanted, but already she knew her doubts did neither of them justice. The wine in her free hand trembled, but she held the glass tightly, the chill seeping through her heated hand.

He ignored everyone, the cream of military circles, some of the most important people in the land standing silently, waiting for her answer. “Never more certain.”

“Yes, John, I’d like that very much.” She gave a shaky smile.

“Thank you.”

Of course the ball was a huge success. Everyone agreed nothing would cap it and it was labelled the event of the season before the season had properly started. Not even a sad squeeze could overtop it. The news circulated as fast as than a man could leave one gathering and speed to the next. More people arrived, ready to witness the sight of John, Lord Graywood, dancing with his wife all evening. Or the woman soon to become his wife, whichever account one preferred.

Faith needed his support, as the revelations of the evening had overcome her. Not since, as Wellington had put it, she’d been widowed twice in a week had she felt her life spin so much out of control. The dowager, triumphant, pushed her daughters into the arms of the eligible young men crowding in from the clubs.

Dowagers were tutting over in the corners of the room, delightedly whispering behind their fans.

John had eyes only for her. They left before the ball came to a close, John claiming the woman he still insisted on calling his wife was exhausted by the events of the evening.

At the door to her room, he drew her close for a sweet, tender kiss. She leaned her head on his shoulder, let him support her while he took his time licking into her mouth, his hand cupping her cheek, his arm holding her snugly. When she gave a small moan into his mouth, he drew away, gently parting their lips and lifting his head. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You aren’t—you don’t want to...?”

“More than anything else I can think of, but I don’t wish any opprobrium to come your way. We’re not out of the woods yet, sweetheart. From the moment I officially realised our marriage might be irregular to the time I meet you at the altar, I will not compromise you. I’ll sleep at my club, so we won’t even share the same roof until then.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. “I want you. Don’t make me sleep alone.”

“You won’t. Turvey is spending the next two nights with you.

After that, you will spend all your nights with me. All of them.” He growled low in his throat and bent to kiss her again. This time he ravaged her mouth with an intensity that left her in no doubt that he wanted her as much as she did him.

He would not relent, instead opening her bedroom door and gently urging her inside. She allowed her maid to undress and wash her, too tired to do anything for herself. Left to her own devices she’d probably have slumped on the bed fully dressed, fine gown and everything.

As it was, John was true to his word, and Turvey spent the following two nights in a truckle bed in Faith’s bedroom while he very publicly entered his club and slept in one of the bedrooms there, returning for breakfast the next day.

By then they knew their fate. John had Roker and Carlisle arrested, pending investigations. Although the scandal had rocked society, it graciously accepted that John’s wealth would cover the immediate debts. His reputation as a businessman and the emergence of a new, wealthy heir persuaded society that the crimes had not depleted the estate of too much of its resources. Its assets and the new business arrangements he was entering into with Edward ensured the future prosperity of the estate.

He would take care of the position he’d been trained for, that of land steward, until he found someone to replace Carlisle. He smiled as he recounted his decision to her over the breakfast table after 232 | Lynne Connolly

church that Sunday. “I never thought I’d be glad of those miserable summers at Graywood.”

The dowager, still arrayed in deepest mourning, nevertheless appeared calm and more settled. As she should be, since both her daughters had gained small courts of their own and bade fair to find husbands by the end of the season. “They were necessary. I had no idea Carlisle was making those visits uncomfortable for you, but I would have insisted on them in any case.”

“You wanted me to become the steward?”

“My husband considered the possibility. He told me Carlisle might not prove competent for the position. However, in time he seemed to cope. Not the best of stewards, it’s certain, but he managed. Or so I thought.” She paused. “However I must confess Roker totally fooled me.”

“He meant to.” John shook out his napkin and spread it across his lap before a servant could perform the task for him. “Unlike Carlisle, Roker was competent. Too greedy, though, and he wagered money that wasn’t his on risky ventures that never came to fruition.”

“Is that not what you did?” Lady Graywood suggested.

John shook his head. “Not precisely. I never did it with someone else’s money.”

The dowager sniffed. “He will get what he deserves. And with his disgrace dies that rumour.”

“I’m so glad.” She actually appeared so. “I never believed it, you know, and I’ve been refuting it wholeheartedly. Laughing at people who repeated it. Tonight I added that Roker originated the rumour. They will die. Already the news of the Princess’s pregnancy is becoming the latest news.”

Strangely touched, John blinked, reached out and touched her hand. “Thank you. There’s more, and these are things I can’t prove.

But I know them to be true.”

He waited until she gave a nod, then turned his attention to Faith. “Roker intended for the estate to revert to the Crown. In the ensuing confusion he could conceal his losses and nobody would enquire too deeply. Bad luck and economic depression would account for the poverty of the estate. Carlisle, full of resentment that I should inherit, went along with his plan. I think the scheme occurred to them after Vivian’s wife died without bearing him a child. They knew Stephen would never marry. I was their main concern, as I could marry and provide heirs. Edward had not contacted them after the initial letter, so they tried to obliterate that side of the family in the records. I do have proof. Besides, Carlisle hated me. They paid John Smith to kill me on the field at Waterloo.”