Countess by Coincidence Page 15

  A wistful look passed over her face, then she shook her head. "Don't worry about me. I know Mikey already has a mother. A very fine mother of whom he's exceedingly fond."

  He could not bear to think of Maggie ever hurting. "Mikey loves you very much. One has only to see you two together to understand that."

  "We are special to each other."

  He wished he could assure her she'd have children of her own one day, but he could not lie.

  As a gloomy silence filled the coach, he kept thinking about her addressing him as her my dear. He should be mortified if his friends heard it, but coming from Maggie, he thought it sweet.

  When they reached Number 7 Trent Square, he met privately with Mrs. Weatherford and Georgie in order to present the lad with his special gift. The boy had no idea what it was to be used for.

  "Oh, my Lord," his mother said, "I know my son will come to love the game as his father once did. It is impossible for me to adequately convey to you the depths of my gratitude."

  "You have nothing for which to thank me. I'm doing what I believe George would want me to do. Besides, it brings me great satisfaction."

  "Not to mention," Maggie added, "my husband enjoys playing cricket."

  Maggie then helped him gather up lads who were interested in playing, and to his surprise, their mothers rushed to thank him. One plump mother said, "Oh, my late husband was ever so fond of cricket. He'll be smiling down from heaven at our boys. It's so kind of your lordship."

  "Indeed it is," Mrs. Weatherford said, her voice a husky purr, her eyes flashing with approval. "Would you permit me to come and watch?"

  He shrugged. "If you'd like."

  He counted ten lads, including Georgie, who was the smallest.

  "I'm just happy Mikey is down for his nap because he would want to barge into the game, and I daresay he's far too small," Margaret said.

  Mrs. Weatherford shook her lovely head. "I do question if my George is old enough, but we'll soon see. I am certain he will enjoy it."

  Before they set off, Lady Caroline arrived with the duchess and Lady Clair, and Maggie chose to stay with them.

  * * *

  The duchess and Mrs. Leander were continuing their interviews with prospective cooks. "Will you look in on my little lamb and get him when he awakens?" Mrs. Leander asked Margaret.

  "You know it will be my pleasure."

  As those two women strode toward the kitchen, Mrs. Leander was commenting to Elizabeth about how attached Margaret was to Mikey.

  Clair turned to Abraham, and even though he'd been footman in her house far longer than he'd been steward at Number 7, Clair remembered to refer to him by his surname. "Carter, it has been determined that one of your new duties will be to keep the household ledgers, and I'm going to show you how to do that. Mrs. Hudson tells us you have an aptitude for sums."

  "'Tis kind of her to say," the handsome young man said.

  "Oblige me by coming to the dinner room. We can sit at the table there," Clair said. "Unless you have pressing duties now?"

  "Nothing that can't be put off until later, my lady."

  As they walked along the corridor toward the dinner room, Clair said, "Pray, do not get discouraged if you don't learn everything in a day. This will take some time. Perhaps weeks."

  When it was just the two look-alike sisters standing in the entry hall, Caroline turned to Margaret. "Did Finchley agree to come to Almack's on Wednesday?"

  If Margaret wasn't convinced Caro wished to marry a duke, she would have thought her sister was romantically interested in Mr. Perry. Then she realized that Caro's scheme to have Mr. Perry make Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley jealous accounted for her interest in the gentlemen coming to Almack's.

  Margaret hated subterfuge of any kind. Yet her whole life was now one big lie. "My husband has said he will go on Wednesday."

  A smile lifted Caro's face. "That's wonderful!"

  Margaret looked askance at her sister. "Are you happy that you'll be able to launch your deviant trap for Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, or are you happy because you're smitten with Mr. Perry?"

  "Both, actually."

  Margaret was so surprised over Caro's admission she could not speak for a moment. "But what of your plan to hold out for a duke? Or least a marquess?"

  "I thought a duke or marquess would have to be an improvement upon those eleven men who've offered for me in these past three years. But I'd not met Mr. Perry. I'd not seen your handsome earl, either. Those two—excluding their wretched reputations—put all the others to the pale. Do you not agree?"

  "I cannot speak to Mr. Perry's attributes. I can only speak for my John, for how he affects me. He does put all the others to the pale.” Margaret would never have believed that Caro would be attracted to a man without title or ancestral lands. Of course, Mr. Perry's late father had purchased a very fine ancestral estate, but that wasn't the same thing at all. "You know Mr. Perry does not come from an aristocratic family?"

  Caro's eyes flashed mischievously. "Yes, but I daresay he's one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, is he not?"

  "I am told he is."

  "And he is most handsome."

  Margaret was astonished. Caro had never before admitted to being attracted to a man. Never.

  "It seems, my dear sister, I owe you an apology," Caro said, "for hastily judging your husband without even being acquainted with him. Now that I'm attracted to his friend—and I daresay there's little difference between the two men's so-called profligate backgrounds—I can easily understand your attraction."

  "I am so happy that you understand."

  Changing the topic, Caro said, "Tell me about this beautiful Mrs. Weatherford."

  Margaret filled her in the widow's connection with John.

  "Does it not bother you the way she cannot remove her gaze from your husband?"

  Margaret had thought perhaps her jealousy saw something flirtatious in the widow's demeanor where nothing existed. But if Caro, too, saw it, the widow must really be attracted to John.

  "It does bother me. She's far too lovely."

  "And he's acting like a father to her boy. I wouldn't trust her not to throw herself at Finchley."

  Even Margaret's jealous thoughts had not traveled in the direction Caro's did. Her heart sank. What if there were a single kernel of truth in Caro's accusations? Margaret knew there was nothing whatsoever between her husband and Mrs. Weatherford at present. But what did the future hold? What woman could fail to be attracted to so handsome a man? What woman from the middle class would not want to unite herself with a peer of the realm, especially when that peer was possessed of dark good looks? It would be quite natural for Mrs. Weatherford to hope for a liaison with her protector earl.

  Though Margaret's fears sharpened, she was determined to fight against such destructive thought. "Watch what you're saying. You are accusing the poor widow of the most vile conduct without any provocation. I beg that you not be so critical of her."

  "You're too good."

  Margaret shook her head.

  "You need to be out there right now," Caro said. "Don't allow that woman to get her tentacles into your husband."

  How Margaret longed to be there watching John with the boys, watching to see if the Widow Weatherford hungrily eyed Lord Finchley. Were his wife there, neither of them would ever act upon a mutual attraction.

  "I cannot. I have to be here when Mikey awakens," she said solemnly.

  "I'll watch out for your Mikey."

  Margaret shook her head. "He only goes to me and to his mother. He'd be frightened to awaken and find another standing over his bed." She started up the stairs, steeped in melancholy.

  * * *

  At the theatre that night, instead of ogling the comely bits of muslin on the stage, John found himself peering into the boxes opposite, peering into every box in the whole blasted theatre. What if Aldridge were here? Or Haverstock? They would be sure to be watching him, waiting for him to take a misstep. How bloody difficult it was to appease both
Maggie's fearsome brother and John's oldest friend. Aldridge forbid him to take up with a doxie; Perry encouraged it.

  What was a fellow to do?

  Since they were lads, John had always allowed Perry to dictate to him. Perhaps because John had never been around other children until he came to Eton. Perhaps because, as the only son among several doting sisters, Perry was accustomed to ordering his siblings about. Whatever the cause, the mold had been set. A peer he might be, but John was subservient to Perry's whims.

  When the final curtain was drawn, Perry would take him backstage to introduce him to Loosey Lucy. Perry had taken the lease on a nearby house where he had already installed the fair dancer for the mutual enjoyment of his friend and him.

  But what if someone saw John mingling with the juicy little piece of crumpet? What if Aldridge had spies? The very thought launched a fresh search throughout the darkened theatre, trying to discern if anyone were paying particular notice to the box where he was sitting with Perry, Arlington, and Knowles. Unfortunately, when only men occupied a box, it was understood they were there to further their dalliances with the tarts who tread the boards. When the box holders were accompanied by respectable women, it was understood they were there to see the performance.

  Wherever he looked, all eyes were upon the stage and its bevy of beauties. No one appeared to be watching him.

  He'd never been plagued like this before his cursed marriage. He'd not spent a single moment in the presence of a doxie since he married. Oddly, he'd not for a single moment desired the presence of a doxie since he married.

  Why in the devil had he consented to come here tonight? He'd thought of several excuses to explain to Perry why he couldn't, but he hated to let down the fellow. Perry was so slap-dash excited over this new dancer. And under no circumstances did John want Perry to accuse him of settling into domesticity.

  That, John vowed to fight at all costs. Can't have the bloods thinking I'm some old family man.

  It had briefly occurred to him to tell his friend that a man whose vital itches were being scratched at home had no need to go elsewhere, but decided against that, too. Not that he objected to his friends believing he and Maggie had joined together as other marital partners did. His objection was to speaking to anyone of his personal life with her. She did not deserve to have her sexual activities—or lack of—bandied about in clubs.

  He grew nervous as the production neared its end and the entire cast assembled on the stage, all their voices raised in song. He'd only been married a month, but already it was as if he'd forgotten how to flirt with a loose woman.

  After the play, the men sat there while the theatre emptied. A few gentlemen of their acquaintance popped in to greet them—and to make lascivious comments about the dancers. John could hardly make eye contact with the visitors because he kept scanning the theatre for Aldridge or someone Aldridge may have asked to spy on his wastrel brother-in-law.

  When they finally went backstage, he was still nervous, still fearing that he'd been seen.

  He and Perry and a handful of other men (thankfully none who appeared to be spying on him) waited outside the dancers’ dressing room. Loosey Lucy was the third to depart. Up close and beneath the light of the wall sconce, he saw that some kind of white substance covered her face—he suspected to cover her freckles. Her cheeks were heavily rouged. She looked first at Perry and curtsied, then turned to curtsy to him, batting her eyelashes, then returned her gaze to Perry. "Do this be your Lord?"

  Perry's dark eyes flashed with mirth as he nodded. "Lord Finchley, allow me to present to you Mrs. Lucy Dankworth.”

  John knew the marital title was nothing more than a fictional prop to lend these types of women respectability. He nodded and attempted to force a smile. After being with Maggie these past several weeks, it was impossible not to compare the woman who stood before him with the woman he’d married. With Maggie, he found nothing that could fail to please. She imbued many of the same fine qualities his mother had exemplified. Virtue. Loveliness. Modesty.

  With Loosey Lucy, though, he was unexpectedly critical. Never before had it annoyed him when the tarts resorted to artifice or immodesty. Now, by contrast to the good woman he’d wed, he felt tainted just by standing there.

  He was so stunned by that revelation that he could not concentrate on the words being spoken. Finally, Perry nudged him. “Ready to go to Mrs. Dankworth’s?”

  “Certainly.”

  To John’s astonishment, Loosey Lucy possessively settled her gloved hand on his sleeve. He could not help but feel the brush of her jiggly bits as she sidled up to him. Dear God, I pray no one sees me with this woman. Especially Aldridge. Or one of his spies.

  Chapter 17

  The following day when she arrived back at Finchley House, an ill-dressed man awaited. "Are you sure he's here to see me, not his lordship?" she asked Sanford.

  "He specifically said he wanted to speak to the countess."

  She invited him into the library and indicated for him to be seated upon a chair.

  "I'll stand, my lady. My business is short. I have a proposition to make to you."

  Her brow quirked.

  "My name's Peter Moore." He said the name as if it should bring recognition.

  "You write for the Morning Chronicle!" More than any other publication, the Morning Chronicle thrived on printing notices of John's most shocking deeds.

  He cracked a smile. "Indeed. I've just come from your husband. He’s engaged me to suppress certain of his activities from being printed. He will pay handsomely."

  It stung that even though he was now married, John was still planning to engage in activities which needed to be suppressed from print. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

  "If you pay me less than a third of what your husband is paying, I'll allow you to have access to the items being suppressed."

  Melancholy slammed into her like an avalanche. Raw emotions threatened to overpower her. Her heart sank. Her pulse pounded. When the odious man first spoke, she'd felt humiliated. Even stronger than her humiliation was her disappointment in her husband. By the time the slimy Mr. Moore had stated his proposition, rage tore through her.

  "Leave my house." She glared at the ill-dressed reporter with more malice than she'd ever directed at another living soul.

  "But, my lady- -"

  "Leave, or I shall call my footmen to forcefully remove you."

  He stumbled toward the door, muttering under his breath. "Ain't never had a wife refuse my services before."

  Once he was gone and she'd heard the home's entry door slam shut, she collapsed onto the room's sofa. She felt soiled. How could anyone believe she would countenance spying on her husband in so devious a manner? Such an activity was contemptible. Even if her marriage had been based on love and affection, so vile a practice could rip apart the closest bonds.

  An even heavier weight on her bruised heart was the knowledge that John was conducting himself in some kind of shameful manner of which her brother would never approve. Was it gambling losses? Excessive consumption of spirits? Oh, she thought, a thud in her heart, was it a loose woman?

  Hadn't she been the one to suggest John use a portion of his newly acquired money to buy newspaper men's silence? Hadn't she insisted that their marriage would in no way change his lifestyle? Hadn't she said he could have a ladybird?

  Then, words had come easily. She probably would have said anything to have him honor their marriage. Now, she could stand the loss of his fortune. Now, she could stand being married to a sot. Now, though, she did not know how she was going tolerate her husband keeping a ladybird.

  Seeing how the widows of Trent Square were growing as close as the most affectionate of families and how dearly they loved their children and their children loved them impressed upon Margaret how lonely this marriage had made her. More often than not, she was rattling about this big, comfortable house with no one except servants. She missed Caro.

  Perhaps a visit to her former h
ome to be surrounded by those who loved her would dispel some of her gloom.

  * * *

  The only thing that made going to Almack's palatable was that Perry was going to be there too. They could suffer together. As John stole a sideways glance at Maggie, sitting beside him in the darkened coach, he realized there was one more thing to make so boring a night acceptable: he was honored to be escorting his lovely wife. What man did not enjoy entering a room with a beauty on his arm?

  “A pity Grandmere won’t be at Almack’s tonight,” he said. “I think she’d be pleased to see how lovely the Finchley emeralds look upon the new countess.”

  “They are lovely.”

  As are you. “Will I be obliged to stand up with each of your sisters?”

  “Of course.” There was levity in her voice.

  “I should prefer to waltz only with you.”

  “You will always be my preferred partner for the waltz.”

  He was already stirred by her ever-present rose scent, and now the thought of slipping an arm around her nearly overpowered him. “I’m confident you’re the only one who will not criticize my incompetence, especially when I trample your feet.”

  She giggled. “But, you must own, your lack of skill—not that I’m accusing you of lacking dancing skill—is well compensated for by your good looks and agreeable height. You will always be a highly sought-after dancing partner.”

  Had his wife just flattered him? The very notion sent his pulse racing. He felt as if he’d just grown two feet. “You’re much too kind.”

  “I’d like to think myself kind, but my compliment was sincere.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. Then, for reasons not apparent to him, he continued holding her slender hand. It was bloody good that Knowles and Arlington weren’t coming tonight. He’d never hear the end of their teasing about being henpecked.

  When they arrived at Almack’s, he was disappointed that Perry had not yet arrived. As a country set was about to begin, he asked the abrasive Lady Caroline to stand up with him, all in an effort to ingratiate himself with Maggie’s favorite sister.