How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)

by Karen Hawkins

  I write this note with a heavy heart. You were not treated well in my house and it pains me greatly. I’m an old woman, not well at all, and you would do me a great favor by accepting this small token of my affection and attending my ball tomorrow evening.

  My nephew’s rash actions may have started some gossip that may now be spreading. But as you know from the unfortunate incident six years ago, running away is the worst way to deal with gossip. Your presence at my ball, along with my visibly warm welcome, will squash any rumors, as no one would believe that I’d welcome one of my nephew’s flirts into my home. Difficult as it may be, you owe it to your sisters to face down the rumor-mongers with a smile upon your face.

  There is only one other reason I can think of that might keep you away from my ball—concern that A Certain Person might be present. Allow me to plainly state that Sinclair will not be at my ball. He and I had quite a row upon your leaving, and I vow upon my aunt Agatha’s grave that he will not be present.

  I hope to see you tomorrow. I will send a coach for you at five.

  Sincerely,

  Margaret, Duchess of Roxburghe

  Rose bit her lip and reread the letter. Sin had been so bitter when she’d last seen him, so angry with her for wanting more of him than he had to give. She blinked, trying to stanch the tears before they came.

  Lily murmured softly and a kerchief was pressed into Rose’s hand. She wiped her tears. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to turn into a watering pot, but I didn’t expect to see— Lily! Dahlia! You wretches!” Her sisters had their heads together over the duchess’s letter.

  Lily, her lips moving as she silently read, held up a hand as if demanding silence.

  “Dahlia,” Rose said. “Stop reading at once and—”

  “Who is Sinclair?” Dahlia asked.

  Lily’s eyes were wide. “Rose, it’s not the earl from—?”

  Rose snatched the note back. “I didn’t give you permission to read that.”

  “Never mind that,” Lily said impatiently. “Tell us about Sinclair.”

  Dahlia, clutching the beautiful shoes, sat on the edge of the settee. “Yes, please tell us.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  Dahlia gave an inelegant snort. “There’s a lot to say, beginning with why you left there so abruptly.”

  Rose sighed. “There’s not much to tell. Lord Sinclair and I met at his grandmother’s, and I discovered that he was still incensed at my behavior all those years ago. In retaliation he was going to . . . ”

  “Going to what?” Lily demanded.

  “He said he was going to seduce me.”

  Dahlia leaned forward. “Rose! Did he succeed?”

  “Of course not.” The more she thought about it, the less sure she was about who had seduced whom. “The trouble is that I started to care for him. Much more than he cared for me.” Her misery caught her by the throat. “I worried I might make even more of a fool of myself than I had, and so . . . I left.”

  Dahlia nodded, but Lily gave her skeptical look.

  Rose looked at the gown and sighed. “Which is why I must give these back.”

  Dahlia hugged the shoes. “No!”

  “Rose, you’re going.” Lily stood and began collecting the items from the trunk. “When that carriage arrives, you will be wearing these gifts. You can’t let the duchess down; this is her way of apologizing. How can you refuse her that?” Lily shrugged. “Besides, if this Lord Sinclair isn’t going to be there, what excuse can you have not to attend?” Lily locked her gaze with Rose. “Or is there more you’re not telling us?”

  Rose managed to stifle a grimace. “Of course not.” Her gaze fell on the letter, and she reread the lines about facing down the rumors. I must do this for Dahlia and Lily. They will be the ones who will be the most hurt by my errors.

  She had no choice. “I’ll go.”

  Dahlia gave an excited hop. “I’ll fetch pen and paper, and we’ll send a note to the duchess right now!” She was gone in a trice.

  Lily patted Rose’s hand. “You’re going to be glad you went. Wait and see.”

  Twenty-four

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  Just as I’d feared, it’s much too warm for ice sculptures. Fortunately, Charlotte and I found an acceptable decorating alternative . . .

  The carriage pulled up to Floors Castle. Clad in the beautiful gown, roses threaded through her hair, Rose had avoided looking out the window for fear of being struck with memories. Now, as she took the footman’s hand and stepped out, she gasped.

  The castle blazed with light. Candles had been placed in every single window, surrounded with mirrors that multiplied their flames.

  MacDougal stood by the door. He smiled on seeing her awed expression. “Ye should see the ballroom and gardens, miss. Her grace outdid herself, she did.”

  “I can’t wait,” she replied seriously. The foyer had been transformed into a hothouse, rows and rows of exotic flowers upon every surface, their rich scent filling the air. More candles had been added, too, which made it seem as if they were in a magical garden.

  MacDougal escorted her to a place near the stairs that had been set up for a receiving line. “If ye’ll wait here, miss, her grace is on her way down. She was jus’ puttin’ the dogs away. We dinna want the wee things trampled by a carriage.”

  “Thank you, MacDougal.”

  “There you are, Miss Balfour!” The duchess, dressed in a resplendent gown of red silk that clashed with her wig, sailed down the stairs. “Ah, my dear, that gown looks beautiful on you!”

  “Thank you. It was too generous of you.”

  “Nonsense. I am glad you came. Roxburghe sent word that he won’t arrive until eleven, so I’m glad to have you with me.”

  “I’m very happy to be here.”

  “Good. We two have work to do tonight. Charlotte will relieve us in the receiving line in an hour, after most of the guests are here. After that, all you must do is mingle and appear to be enjoying yourself. Are you ready?”

  “I think so.”

  “Not everyone knows about what happened. The rumor is a new one and no one knows you, which is good. Had you been a personage of note, people would have talked more. There is more of a curiosity about you. All we have to do is show the world that you are a lady of refinement, and the rumor will die a quick death.”

  Rose took a steadying breath. Some people would stare, or whisper, or laugh, but she would ignore them. The duchess was right; if not addressed, the rumors would only grow.

  Outside, a carriage rolled up, followed by another and then another.

  Rose lifted her chin. “Your grace, let’s grab this lion by the mane and ride it to perdition.”

  The duchess smiled. “Well said, Miss Balfour.” She offered her arm to Rose and they went to the head of the receiving line.

  • • •

  It was much worse than the duchess had predicted. Rose could only suppose that while people didn’t recognize her name, they were quite familiar with Sin’s. Though Lady Roxburghe’s presence at Rose’s side kept anyone from saying anything directly to her, it didn’t keep them from staring at her with disdain when her grace’s gaze was turned elsewhere.

  Everywhere Rose looked, people seemed to be staring at her, talking behind their hands and fans, some of them giggling or sneering. It took all her strength to keep a smile on her face, but she managed, aided by the duchess’s support. When the hour had finally passed and Lady Charlotte arrived, the duchess took Rose’s arm and they entered the ballroom.

  The room was draped in blue, purple, and rose silk, all tied back with gold cords. Golden lights shone here and there, and candles danced in mirrored splendor on every table. “Oh, Lady Roxburghe, it’s lovely.”

  Her grace looked around with an air of satisfaction. “It’s well enough, though there’s not much that’s wintry about it.”

  “It looks like a starry night.”

  The duchess smiled. “That’s
exactly what we were trying to create.” She patted Rose’s hand. “Come. Let me introduce you to some of Roxburghe’s friends.”

  Rose obediently walked with the duchess, pretending not to notice the looks that followed her.

  A half hour later, the dancing began. Her grace smiled. “And now I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you dance. We had so few at our house party that dancing wasn’t feasible, but there are so many young people here.” She patted Rose’s hand. “You’ll have a partner before this dance even finishes.”

  But again, the duchess’s enthusiasm went unrewarded. No one asked for Rose’s hand for that dance. Nor for the next dance. Nor the one after it. Nor the one after that.

  Finally, a handsome, fashionable gentleman approached. The duchess coolly introduced him as Viscount MacRae, a neighbor. When he asked if her grace’s “lovely friend” would care to dance, the duchess hesitated, but Rose quickly stepped forward with a breathless “Thank you.” Perhaps now the duchess could sit down and enjoy the ball instead of fretting over her.

  It proved to be a country dance, which allowed for occasional conversation. They went down the line, talking of the weather, the number of candles used to light the castle, the beauty of a famed waterfall.

  Lord MacRae said in a teasing tone, “Miss Balfour, I must say that you are quite the topic of conversation this evening.”

  Her face heated. Perhaps if she feigned ignorance, he would take the hint and change the topic. “My, it’s certainly a full ball, isn’t it? There was a line of carriages all the way down the drive to the main road.”

  His gaze narrowed, but to her relief, he smiled and began to converse on the size of the crowd, wondering if it would cause a press at supper.

  She assured him that the duchess had everything set, despite the large crowd, and she had the pleasure of having a conventional conversation without feeling the weight of someone’s knowing gaze.

  She was just beginning to relax when they danced by the terrace window and MacRae, tucking her hand in his, broke out of the dance line.

  She frowned. “Lord MacRae, what are you doing? We shouldn’t leave the ballroom.”

  “When the duchess has gone to such lengths in lighting the gardens?”

  Rose had forgotten that. Now that she looked, several other couples were walking out to see the lighted paths. She laughed at her overly cautious behavior. “You’re right. I would love to see them.”

  They walked to the doors and he gallantly held one open. Refreshing air came sweeping in. “Perhaps you’d relish a cooling stroll under the moonlight?”

  She looked over her shoulder, catching the hostile gaze of at least two young ladies whom she’d never before met. Suddenly, the coolness of the well-lit terrace held even more relief, and she nodded. “Yes, let’s take a walk.”

  She walked through the door, Viscount MacRae following.

  • • •

  A few minutes later, MacDougal announced in a loud voice, “The Earl of Sinclair.”

  Margaret frowned as Sin joined her. “Where have you been?”

  “I had some unavoidable business to attend to.” He frowned, looking about the room. “Where’s Rose?”

  Aunt Margaret gestured toward the dance floor. “She’s dancing with Viscount MacRae.”

  Sin’s jaw tightened. “That bounder? How could you allow her to dance with him?”

  Margaret gave him an exasperated glare. “Because he was the only one who asked her. People are talking far more than I expected.”

  “Not more than I expected,” he said, his voice dark. “Munro has been wagging his tongue all over town. I shall have to speak to him again.”

  “Please do. Poor Rose has been very calm in the face of it, but I can see that she’s hurt. And then, when no one would ask her to dance—”

  “Where is she? The set has gone around twice and I don’t see them anywhere.”

  Margaret’s brows snapped low. “I just saw them a few moments ago. Surely he didn’t—”

  But Sin had already left. He’d walked only a few feet when he heard a frightened yell. The ballroom came to an abrupt standstill, while people stared at the terrace doors.

  Sin ran as fast as he could, only vaguely aware that others followed. All he cared about was Rose.

  • • •

  Rose shook her hand and hopped on one foot. “Ow, ow, ow!” she said through clenched teeth.

  Viscount MacRae, his hands over his nose, managed to say through a nose already swelling closed, “You bern’t even indured!”

  “I am too injured! I bruised my knuckles on that rock you call a nose.”

  “You shouldn’t hab hit me!”

  “And you shouldn’t have tried to kiss me! That was very improper.”

  Viscount MacRae looked sulkily at her, his hands still over his nose. “You knewb I was goinb to kib you.”

  “No, I did not. Why do you think I jumped when you tried? You scared me to death!” She eyed him with disfavor. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  “Why do you think I asked you oub on the terrace to begin wib?”

  “Because you wished to see the lights in the garden, which is what you said, you idiot. I’ll never forgive you for— Oh, do stop dripping blood everywhere. You’re making a mess. Here.” She pulled a kerchief from her pocket and held it out to him.

  “I cannob let go ob my nobe or it bill bleed more.” He sat heavily upon the edge of the fountain. “You’ll hab to hold it ub while I releab it.”

  “I have to hold it up— Oh, you really are a pain.” She bent down and tried to peer under his hands. “Blast it, I can barely see in this light.” She dropped to her knees. “Lift up a bit.”

  He half stood, half crouched.

  “When I count to three, lift your hands and I’ll press the kerchief to your nose.”

  “Dank yew,” he said meekly.

  “You’re welcome. Now—One. Two. Thr—”

  Sin burst into the clearing, his furious eyes seeing only two things: Rose was on her knees, and the viscount seemed to tower over her.

  He stalked up to MacRae, grabbed the bounder by the lapel, and drew back to strike the man.

  Rose grabbed his fist. “Sin, no! What are you doing?”

  “I heard you yell, and now I’m going to send this despicable blackguard to hell!”

  “You can’t hit him! Just look at him.”

  Sin forced his gaze to the viscount. The man’s hands were tightly covered over his nose.

  “You can cover your nose all you want,” Sin ground out, “but I’m going to break it.”

  “Too late,” Rose said in a chilly voice. “I already did it.”

  Sin blinked. For the first time, he noticed the blood on the viscount’s chin and cravat. “Oh.” Sin set the viscount back on his feet and turned to Rose. “But . . . I heard you yell.”

  “No, you heard Viscount MacRae yell.”

  Sin tried to remember and realized that it had been a man’s yell, but in his concern for Rose, he hadn’t stopped to question it.

  Suddenly, he became aware that they had an audience. A quick glance confirmed the worst. Every pathway was filled with curious faces.

  He scowled and turned to Rose. “What in hell were you thinking, coming outside?”

  He didn’t mean to snap at her, but he’d been trying to rescue her and it seemed that all he’d done was make things worse by causing yet a bigger scene.

  “I came outside because it was hot inside. The garden is well lit and there were a lot of people about. But then as we walked, everyone disappeared and . . . ”

  A murmur from someone in the crowd made Rose stiffen, and suddenly she was aware of all the eyes upon them.

  Sin saw her face go pale. He stepped forward, “Rose, don’t worr—”

  She whirled on him, her eyes blazing. “That’s it. I tried to make things right. I tried to put up a brave front so that my sisters could have a decent chance, but—” A sob broke her voice and she turned, ready to back ou
t of his life.

  Sin caught her and lifted her into his arms.

  She fought, as furious as a cat in a wet bag. “Let me down!”

  “No. You’re going to listen to me.” But she wouldn’t stop struggling. Frustrated, he looked around, and then smiled. He strode to the fountain, stepped over the edge, and strode to the middle, the water up to his thighs.

  She grabbed her skirts, trying to keep them out of the water. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you will at least listen to what I have to say.”

  “Put me down this instant!”

  “No. You’ll get wet.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear anything from anyone!”

  “If you won’t listen to me here, you’ll listen to me at your home, or in the stables when you go out for a ride, or somewhere else. If I have to chase you from one end of this earth to the other, I will.”

  Rose’s gaze locked on his eyes. He was deadly serious. It showed in the steady line of his jaw, in the way he stood, feet planted in the fountain.

  She cast a glance around and realized that the crowd had grown. At least fifty people were crowded about the fountain, listening to every word.

  Her chest tightened and she cleared her throat. “Sin, just . . . put me down.” Her voice broke and she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “I just want to leave.”

  Sin leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I can’t let you go, Rose. I’ve tried and it kills me.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Losing someone you love does that to you.” He set her on the marble pedestal under the statue.

  “Sin, what are you—”

  He dropped to one knee and looked up at her. “Rose Balfour, will you do me the very, very great honor of taking my hand in marriage?”

  Rose swiped at her eyes, unable to believe her own ears. “Did you just say . . . that you love me?”

  He reached up and took her hand between his. “Rose Balfour, you are the most frustrating, most argumentative woman I’ve ever—”

  “This isn’t sounding a bit romantic.”