The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “My mama is dead,” the boy said flatly.

  “Dead!" Selina echoed. “But . . .”

  She did not believe she was that confused, and she was quite certain Winthrop had gone upstairs, not five minutes since, to announce their arrival to Lady Preston. She then recollected her conversation wfith the Earl and recalled that Lord and Lady Preston had been married but a few years. Not nearly long enough to have a ten-year-old child.

  “Lady Preston is not your mother then?” she said aloud.

  “Oh, no; Harriet is my sister. I am Jeremy Cochran. Alex’s brother," he added redundantly.

  Lord Worsham had not mentioned a younger brother, and as Selina attempted to digest this new information, the postilion puffed into the foyer and crashed her trunk on the marble floor. He made two more trips, carrying Papa’s trunk and then their valises, and Papa accompanied him inside on his third and final foray. Evidently Black jack Hewson’s tip was a generous one: the postboy flashed an astonished smile and, after bowing and scraping his way out of the entry hall, broke into an ecstatic, tuneless whistle.

  “Well, I believe that does it.” Papa dusted off his hands as if he had personally borne each and every case from the chaise to the foyer. He smiled at Selina, then squinted at the figure beside her; his black eyes were not quite so keen as they had been in his early manhood. “And who is this fine fellow?” he asked heartily.

  “Jeremy Cochran.” The boy swept quite a passable bow.

  "Alex's brother,” Selina elaborated quickly. She hoped she had laid sufficient stress on the first word.

  “Alex’s brother,” Papa repeated. “Whom dear Alex told us so very much about. It is a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jeremy. I daresay Selina has informed you of our relationship—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of footfalls overhead, and they all glanced up and watched as a young woman preceded Winthrop down the staircase. Based on Lord Worsham’s description, Selina believed she would have recognized Lady Harriet Preston anywhere. Her features were virtually identical to the Earl's and Jeremy's, but her coloring was a muted reflection of her brothers’: her hair was so dark a blond as to be nearly brown, and her eyes were merely deep blue—a faint, unfulfilled promise of lavender. And, as his lordship had indicated, his sister did seem somehow older than he: her thin mouth betrayed a certain grimness round the edges, and, though Selina could not have explained precisely why, she thought Lady Preston appeared a trifle nervous.

  Her ladyship reached the entry hall and started to speed across it, and at that moment Jeremy squatted down and released the lizard. The terrified reptile made a mad dash for freedom but unfortunately selected the wrong direction: he wriggled over the toe of one of Lady Preston’s white chamois shoes and sought refuge under the side table. Lady Preston emitted a piercing shriek and clutched the bosom of her lutestring spencer.

  “Catch him!” she screeched. “Catch him! I cannot spend the night in this house if a monster is loose.” Papa and Winthrop rushed to the table, dropped simultaneously to their knees and—nearly bumping heads—began to grope about the floor. Winthrop proved the winner: he captured the lizard and, with an expression of keen distaste, carried it to the front door and set it on the porch.

  “Thank God.” Lacking a proper fan. Lady Preston waved one hand in the general vicinity of her flushed face. “As for you, Jeremy, I have told you repeatedly that I will not abide animals in the house. Outside with you now; go out and play with your lizards and your frogs and your insects . . .”

  She shuddered and waved her hand a bit more rapidly, and Jeremy fled through the front door. Winthrop slammed it resoundingly in his wake, and Lady Preston stopped her fanning and essayed an apologetic smile.

  “I am so sorry,” she murmured. “It was hardly a proper welcome, was it, but I must own that Jeremy is driving me out of my wits.” Her smile turned a trifle shaky, and she bit her lip. “But that is neither here nor there, for I am most eager to confirm Winthrop’s intelligence. Dare I hope”—she looked at Selina—“that you and Alex are married?”

  Lady Preston’s words were so different from those Selina had expected, had feared, that she was momentarily at loss for a response. Fortunately, Papa leaped at once into the breach.

  “Indeed they are,” he said, “and we are certainly sorry to have perpetrated such a surprise. The fact is that dear Alex left Virginia two and a half weeks before we ourselves departed, and we naturally assumed he had reached England by now. He sailed on the Nightingale."

  Papa paused significantly, but it was clear that Lady Preston did not recognize the name of the ill-fated ship; she merely widened her rather tremulous smile. “You are from Virginia?” she said. “And that is where Alex and—and . . .” She stopped and raised her dark- blond brows.

  “Selina,” Selina mumbled.

  “That is where Alex and Selina were married?”

  “Yes,” Papa confirmed. “They were wed just a few short days before Alex’s departure.” He heaved a great sigh. “So you can well conceive Selina’s disappointment to discover that her dear husband has not yet arrived.” He patted his daughter’s shoulder. “But I daresay there is nothing to be done about it, and I do trust it will not prove too grave an imposition if we remain with you until Alex’s return.”

  “Remain with us.” Lady Preston moistened her lips. “Actually, Mr.—Mr. Hewson, is it?”

  “Yes, but I do hope—in view of our relationship— that you will not feel compelled to stand on formality. Perhaps you might call me John.”

  “John; yes; and you must certainly call me Harriet. In any event, as I was at the point of saying—”

  Whatever Harriet had been at the point of saving was lost when the front door crashed open and a man strode furiously into the foyer. Selina presumed him to be Viscount Preston, but she did not believe she would have identified him from Lord Worsham’s account, for his alleged primness was now’here in evidence. To the contrary, his plumpish face was flushed an alarming shade of scarlet, and rivulets of perspiration were trickling from his brow all the way to his neckcloth. He tore off his beaver hat—exposing a scalp nearly as bare as Papa’s—and fairly flung it on one of the shield-back chairs.

  “Harriet!” he roared. “Do you know what Jeremy is at?”

  The question was obviously rhetorical, but Lady Preston nervously shook her head.

  “He is picking Lady Worthington’s flowers!” the Viscount bellowed. “He had already stripped the window boxes when I arrived and demanded an explanation. He informed me he had to conduct a funeral service for a lizard.” Selina was sincerely sorry to learn that the litde reptile had not survived his adventures. “When I commanded him to desist, he exposed his tongue at me and raced around to the back of Lady Worthington’s house. Where, I have no doubt, he is busily denuding her ladyship’s rose bushes . .

  Lord Preston’s report expired in a sputter, and he whipped a handkerchief from the pocket of his frock coat and mopped his brow. Under normal circumstances, Selina thought he would have been a reasonably attractive man: he was about forty years of age, his slight excess of weight was evenly distributed over perhaps six feet of height, and he had extremely fine brown eyes. However, even as she studied him, ne drew himself up, popped a button off his waistcoat and stamped his foot.

  “I will not have it, Harriet,” he said severely. “My patience is entirely exhausted—”

  “Yes, Simon.” There was, unmistakably, a nervous tremor in Harriet’s voice. “Winthrop will go over to Lady Worthington’s and bring Jeremy back.” She nodded authoritatively toward the butler, and he, shoulders drooping, trudged reluctantly out the front door and closed it behind him. “In the interim, you have given me no chance to present our guests and to relate the most wonderful news. This, Simon, is Mr. John Hewson and his daughter Selina. Lady Worsham, I might have said, because Alex married Selina just before his departure from America.”

  “Married?” the Viscount barked. “Alex? Departure?”
“I can well conceive your astonishment, Simon,” Papa said smoothly. “You will not object if I call you Simon? Yes, as I explained to dear Harriet just a few minutes since ..

  Papa repeated his explanation for Simon’s benefit, again pausing after he had uttered the fateful word "Nightingale.” But Lord Preston betrayed no sign of recognition either, and Papa concluded his commentary' by once more expressing the hope that the Hewsons might stay with the Prestons until Alex’s return.

  “Well," the Viscount said, when Papa had finished. “That is splendid news indeed, and I should like to extend my warmest wishes.” He shook Papa’s hand, bowed over Selina’s, then frowned. “However, insofar as the immediate future is concerned, I should have supposed Harriet might have questioned—”

  “We had no time to discuss it, Simon,” Lady Preston interjected hastily. “Nor have we now, for dinner will be ready in under an hour, and I daresay John and Selina would like to freshen up beforehand. I shall direct their bags to be taken up, and we shall continue the conversation at table, shall we not?”

  Without awaiting an answer, Harriet hurried to the front door and tugged the bell rope just beside it, and a veritable army of servants descended upon the entry hall. Two footboys seized Selina’s luggage, and a maid gendy propelled her up the stairs behind them. Dinner? Selina thought. The very idea of food rendered her distincdy nauseous, and as she plodded along the first- floor corridor, she tried to concentrate on lizards and flowers instead.

  Selina had hoped to speak privately with Papa prior to dinner, but there was no opportunity. She had scarcely registered the sumptuous appointments of her bedchamber—the perfectly matched rosewood furnishings, the blue-and-white Axminster carpet, the coordinated draperies and counterpane—when the first maid began unpacking her trunk while a second deposited a great wooden tub in the center of the rug. A third maid appeared on the heels of the second to fill the tub with steaming water, and as Selina had not had a proper bath for almost six weeks, she promptly forgot Papa and his shameless scheme. She fairly wallowed in the tub, soaping and rinsing herself half a dozen times, and when the first maid advised her that it really was time to dress, Selina’s skin was beginning to pucker.

  Puckers notwithstanding, she felt immeasurably better, and as she peered into the cheval glass beside the wardrobe, she judged that she looked much better as well. She had elected to wear a rather simple evening gown of white crepe over a white sarcenet slip, with a three-quarter-length apron falling from just below the bust. Unfortunately, she had not had time to wash and dry her hair, but the first maid had dressed it quite competently. More than competendy, in fact; the black curls spilling round her face did not look nearly so grimy as they felt. She and Papa had agreed to sell the second set of sapphires to finance their journey, but Selina had planned her new wardrobe with that factor in mind, and the brooch, necklace and earrings of jet perfectly complemented her gown.

  The mantel clock began to chime, and the first maid tapped Selina’s arm. “It is seven o’clock. Lady Worsham,” she said, “and Lord Preston insists that dinner be served precisely on the hour. So if everything is satisfactory . .

  Selina momentarily forgot that she was allegedly Lady Worsham, but at length she remembered her role and nodded. The maid dashed to the door and opened it, and as Selina stepped into the corridor, she encountered Papa emerging from a doorway immediately across the hall. He looked quite resplendent, she observed: he was wearing black pantaloons, a charcoal frock coat and a dove-gray waistcoat, all new. But there was no chance for conversation now either; Selina’s assigned maid and Papa’s valet escorted them to the staircase, down to the entry hall and through the foyer to the dining room.

  Simon, Harriet and Jeremy were already seated, and the Viscount glowered briefly at his watch, as though his guests were three hours, rather than three minutes, late. But two footmen scurried forward to guide the Hewsons to their chairs, and Lady Preston—with characteristic nervousness—rang for the first course.

  “Delicious!” Papa pronounced.

  Actually he gurgled, for he was fairly inhaling his soup. Selina vaguely identified it as mulligatawny: Mrs. Renard’s version had been so laden with curry as to be virtually inedible.

  “Thank you,” Harriet said. She consumed a spoonful of her own soup, then rotated her head sharply to the left. “Jeremy! Just what do you imagine you are doing?”

  “I have constructed a catapult,” he replied.

  In fact, this appeared to be the truth; Jeremy had placed his spoon upright in his bowl and was dropping small pebbles upon the handle. Each time he scored a hit, the bottom of the spoon flew upward, showering golden drops of mulligatawny all over the tablecloth and all over Jeremy. Fortunately, the latter spots were nearly unnoticeable, for Jeremy’s clothes were already soiled beyond redemption.

  “Well, you are to stop at once,” Lady Preston snapped. “What must John and Selina think of you? And Selina your very own sister-in-law.” She raised another spoonful of soup toward her mouth, then trickled it back in the bowl, and Selina began to collect why it was Lady Preston was so thin. “You do understand, do you not, Jeremy? Selina’s relationship to us?”

  “She says she is married to Alex.” Jeremy’s .latest pebble landed precisely on target, and a tidy little pool of mulligatawny splashed upon the tablecloth.

  “Selina is married to Alex," Lord Preston roared, “and you are to dismantle your ’catapult’ at once! Now!”

  “Yes, sir.” Jeremy removed his spoon from his bowl, managing to slosh another great quantity of soup over

  the side.

  “Oh, Jeremy.” Harriet sighed, and her eyes flickered from Selina to Papa. “I do apologize—”

  “Do not tease yourself about it, Harriet."

  Papa gazed longingly at his empty bowl, then at the footmen, and Lady Preston hastily rang her silver bell again. The footmen bounded forward, whisked away the soup bowls and delivered an entree of potatoes, peas, cauliflower and a meat Selina could not identify until Papa sampled his and complimented Harriet on the excellence of her mutton.

  “Do not tease yourself about it,” he repeated. “Boys will be boys, and in any event, Selina and I do not wish to be treated like guests. If we are to stay for some time, we should like you to regard us as members of the family. Which,” he added quickly, “we are.”

  “Stay for some time,” the Viscount echoed. “That brings a rather puzzling circumstance to my mind, Mr. —ah—John. I wonder why Alex instructed you to meet him here rather than at his own home.”

  “Wrhy Alex instructed us to meet him here,” Papa paraphrased thoughtfully, through a mouthful of mutton. “I daresay he felt it would prove more convenient for us to travel directly to London rather than to Wiltshire.” In fact, Wiltshire lay between Plymouth and London, a geographic detail Selina hoped the Prestons would fail to recall. “He no doubt intended us all to travel to Wiltshire together."

  “Oh, no, he would not have thought to go to Wiltshire,” Harriet said. “Alex’s country home—Worfields—has been empty for many years, and it is entirely unfit for habitation.”

  “I like Worfields,” Jeremy said.

  “W'ell, of course you do, dear, but that is because you remember it as it was when Mama and Papa were still alive. No, Simon was not referring to Worfields when he mentioned a meeting at Alex’s home; he was referring to Alex’s townhouse.”

  “Alex’s townhouse.” Papa spoke as if these were esoteric words foreign to his vocabulary.

  “Yes. Naturally it has been unoccupied for nearly two years as well, but I should have supposed, if Alex was to precede you by several weeks, that he intended to have it ready by the time you arrived.”

  “Perhaps so,” Papa agreed. “At any rate, Alex cannot be delayed much longer, and I am sure he will clarify the matter upon his return—”

  “Jeremy!” Harriet screeched. “What are you doing now?”

  “I dropped my cauliflower.”

  “You did not drop you
r cauliflower,” she corrected, her voice beginning to tremble. “You deliberately scraped it on the carpet.”

  “I don’t like cauliflower,” the boy said reasonably.

  “You are excused from the table, Jeremy.” Simon entered the fray.

  “But—”

  “Now! You will not finish the remainder of your dinner, and you will have no blueberry pie. You are excused at once."

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jeremy rose, and Selina wondered how the Prestons could possibly have failed to foresee the “accident” that ensued: he somehow “caught” his sleeve on his plate and swept it to the floor, scattering potatoes, peas and mutton halfway across the room. Harriet emitted a small moan, two footmen rushed forward to tend the mess, and Jeremy himself fled into the entry hall.

  “That does it.” Viscount Preston flung his napkin on the table. “Harriet and I discussed the situation just prior to dinner, and though she fears we may appear a trifle inhospitable, I advised her that I will not endure the existing conditions a moment longer than absolutely necessary. I trust you are aware, Selina, that Alex is Jeremy’s legal guardian.”

  Since Selina had not known of Jeremy’s existence until that very afternoon, she was aware of no such thing, but Papa again pounded to the rescue.

  “Yes, Alex spoke often and fondly of his dear little brother, whose legal guardian he is.”

  “I daresay Alex is fond of Jeremy,” his lordship sniffed, “for they are two of a kind. Be that as it may, Harriet and I consented to keep Jeremy while Alex was abroad, and at this juncture—I shall not hide my teeth—he is driving us both to the point of madness.” Selina suddenly recollected, and suddenly understood, Lord Worsham's sardonic comment that his sister would be “thrilled’' to see him back in England. “I must insist that you open Alex's townhouse immediately and take Jeremy to live with you there.”