The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  He had said so much, and so quickly, that even Papa was momentarily at a loss for words, but he eventually managed a sagacious nod. “An excellent suggestion, Simon,” he said, “and one we shall implement without delay. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you understand, the task may require some weeks, perhaps a month or more—”

  “It should require no time at all,” Harriet interposed. “In Alex’s absence, I have sent one of my own maids to Mount Street every two weeks, and the house is quite clean. The coverings must be removed from the furniture, of course, and some slight tidying up will be needed, but I daresay the house can be ready in a matter of days.”

  “A matter of days.”

  For perhaps the first time in his life. Black Jack Hewson had stumbled into a trap he could not seem to escape. He stabbed at the remnants of his mutton, and Selina conceived a notion of her own.

  “I daresay the house could be ready in a few days,” she said, “but it will take much, much longer to engage a proper staff.”

  “But it won’t!” Harriet said happily. “As it happens, Alex's former butler is Winthrop’s brother. His name is also Winthrop," she added gratuitously. “At any rate, Alex's Winthrop came by this week to visit our Winthrop, and our Winthrop remarked that Alex’s Winthrop has lost his post. His employers—the employers of Alex’s Winthrop, that is”—Selina’s head was starting to swim— “have sold all their English property and plan to emigrate to Canada. So you will be able to engage Winthrop at once, and he will engage as many of his recent staff as may be necessary.”

  Lady Preston’s logic was impeccable, and Selina gazed glumly at her plate, which now contained only cauliflower. She did not care for cauliflower either.

  “There remains only one problem, Harriet, but it is a delicate one.” Papa cleared his throat. “Since dear Alex expected to precede us to England, he did not make any Financial provision for Selina. Beyond our passage, of course,” he hastily amended. “Therefore I fancy we really must wait—”

  “That is no problem,” Simon said soothingly. “Alex left a certain sum with us to meet Jeremy’s expenses, and you will be relieved to learn that a substantial balance remains. I pride myself on my careful management of money, John—a skill the Cochrans have yet to master.” He gazed pointedly at his wife, and she gazed pointedly at her plate. “No, money is no obstacle; there is certainly enough to operate Alex’s household for a week or two. By which time, I am confident, Alex will have returned. I suggest, Selina, that you begin the work tomorrow; Harriet will assist you.”

  Tomorrow! Selina waited for Papa to offer another, an inarguable, objection, but he did not. “Very well,” he said. He cleared his throat again. “If I may proffer a suggestion of my own, it appears to me that Selina will be quite busy, far too busy to engage in the normal social activities of the Season. Furthermore, now that I think on it, I am certain Alex wished personally to introduce his wife into society. So perhaps we should keep the marriage our little secret until Alex returns.”

  Selina shot Papa a sharp glance across the table, but he was inspecting his empty plate, and the Prestons wholeheartedly concurred in his proposal. Harriet rang her bell once more, and the footmen removed the entree and—as the Viscount had indicated earlier— presented slices of blueberry pie. Selina had entirely

  lost her tenuous appetite, but she spread the pie about her plate until it looked as though she had consumed a great deal.

  At last the interminable meal was over, and Lord Preston, ever proper, desired one of the footmen to escort the Hewsons back to their bedchambers. Selina lurked behind her door for several minutes, then— judging the way clear—cracked it and peered into the corridor. As she had calculated, the hall was deserted, and she sped across it to Papa’s room and admitted herself. To her dim satisfaction, Black Jack Hewson was pacing the Aubusson carpet, his scalp unmistakably gleaming in the candlelight.

  “You see the fine hobble you have got us in!” she snapped, closing the door and leaning against it. “Selina, Selina, what could I have done?”

  It was a perfectly reasonable question and, unreasonably, it fueled Selina’s irritation. “You would not have had to do anything had you not concocted this wretched scheme in the first place.” She realized that her voice had risen, but she thought Papa well deserved a handsome ripping-up. “As it is, we cannot continue the deception without using Lord Worsham’s money. Our only course is to confess and depart at once—”

  “No.” Papa shook his head. “With any wit at all, you can delay the opening of Lord Worsham’s house a week or more, and I am sure we shall have received word of his death by then.”

  “You were sure the Prestons would have received word of his death before we arrived,” Selina reminded him.

  “Perhaps I erred,” Papa admitted. “Perhaps, with all the news of Napoleon’s return to power, the papers failed to report the sinking of the Nightingale. If we have heard nothing within the week, I shall go to the office of The Times and investigate the matter.”

  “And in the interim?” Selina demanded. “What of Jeremy?”

  ‘7 shall assume full responsibility for Jeremy,” Papa promised. “Indeed, I fancy Jeremy and I shall get on

  quite well, for his behavior bears an astonishing resemblance to my own at the same age.”

  Selina had no doubt of this, and she hesitated only a moment more. Papa was right, she conceded. She need spend little—if any—of Lord Worsham's money, and the Hewsons had come too far to abandon their venture a few days, perhaps a few hours, before its successful consummation.

  “Very well,” she muttered. She turned around, started to twist the doorknob, turned back. “Why did you suggest that my—my marriage to Lord Worsham be kept a secret?”

  “I view it as a form of insurance, my dear.” “Insurance against what?” Selina said suspiciously. “Do not tease yourself about it.” Apparently Black Jack Hewson had regained his characteristic confidence: he expansively waved one hand. “As I stated this afternoon, you may leave the details to me.”

  Selina was too tired to pursue the matter; she nodded and stepped into the corridor. She had traversed half the distance to her own bedchamber when she was suddenly struck by the horrible notion that Alexander Cochran might be alive. No, by the horrible notion that Papa thought Lord Worsham might be alive.

  She whirled around and fancied she glimpsed a shadow at the end of the hall. She was tired, she decided, so tired that she was permitting her imagination to trick her. She reversed direction one last time, marched into her room and firmly closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 5

  Selina had decided that the best means of postponing the opening of Lord Worsham’s townhouse was to claim (with considerable truth) that she was too tired to undertake the task right away, and as she entered the breakfast parlor the following morning, she flashed Harriet what she hoped to be a wan, exhausted smile. However. Lady Preston at once forestalled her: a footman had scarcely delivered Selina’s plate when Harriet announced that “Alex’s Winthrop” was already hard at work.

  “I dispatched our Winthrop to his brother’s lodgings early this morning," Harriet explained, “and he—Alex’s Winthrop—agreed to begin immediately. And, by a great stroke of fortune, one of the maids on his late staff had not yet found employment either! Conse- quendy, our Winthrop took his brother and the maid directly to Mount Street, and we are to meet them there as soon as we have finished breakfast.”

  Lady Preston was speaking with uncharacteristic animation, consuming her eggs, bacon and kidneys with astonishing appetite; and when Selina glanced around the table, she surmised the reason: she and Harriet were alone.

  “Where are the others?” she asked. “Papa and Jeremy and Simon?”

  “Simon had an appointment with his man of business, and your father has taken Jeremy out for an excursion. He was quite secretive about their destination; I fancy he wanted to surprise Jeremy. It is clear, Selina, that

  John is very good with children.
But hurry now; Winthrop expects us well before noon, and it is already half past ten."

  Selina glimpsed no immediate avenue of escape, and though she dawdled over her meal as long as she could, it was only eleven when she and Lady Preston—ensconced in a gleaming new landau—set out for Mount Street. They reached their destination in under fifteen minutes, and Selina, curious in spite of herself, craned her neck for a look at the Earl’s London home. She noted, with a peculiar sense of proprietary pride, that the house was rather different from those she’d seen in Brook Street: it had no pillars and featured tabernacle windows above a rusticated arcade. The coachman handed them out of the carriage, and Harriet preceded Selina up the front steps and through the open door.

  “Ah, here you are, Lady Preston.”

  Selina thought Harriet would have advised her if “our Winthrop” and “Alex’s Winthrop” were twins, so she assumed they were not. But, she reflected, they might have been: this Winthrop was also very tall and very heavy, and it was almost impossible to determine where his white hair ended and his shirt-points and neckcloth began.

  “Yes, I am here, Winthrop. And I know you will be pleased to make the acquaintance of your new mistress, Lady Worsham.”

  “Very pleased indeed,” the butler intoned. In view of his size and the incredible quantity of starch about his neck, he swept a truly remarkable bow. “I took the liberty, ma’am, of instructing Rose to remove the coverings from the furniture first, and, having accomplished that, she is now cleaning the ground floor. So I daresay we should be more comfortable in the drawing room.”

  Without awaiting a response, he turned and led them up the staircase to the first floor and into a saloon located just to the left of the landing. To her dismay, Selina observed that the room was in splendid condition indeed: the upholstered furniture—all in masculine shades of brown and gold—appeared virtually spotless, and there were but a few specks of dust on the various tables and chests and commodes.

  “I should naturally suggest tea except that as yet we have no cook.” Winthrop nodded them into the saloon ahead of him. “Which brings me to the matter we must discuss, Lady Worsham: that of staff. I believe we should retain Rose—I have found her to be an excellent girl— and I recommend a second parlormaid, two chambermaids, a lady’s maid—in addition to your own abigail, of course—a valet for his lordship and another for guests, a cook, a scullery maid, four footmen, two footboys—”

  “No!” Selina yelped. Winthrop tried, and failed, to repress a frown, and she bit her lip. “That is to say, I am sure your recommendations are eminendy reasonable, Winthrop, but .. .” She floundered; where was Black Jack Hewson when she needed him? “But I do not know just how long Lord Worsham intends to stay in London,” she finished with a rush.

  Harriet had assumed a frown as well, and Selina belatedly recollected her comments about the Wiltshire house.

  “Alex did indicate that Worfields was in fearful disrepair,” she ratded on, “but I got the impression that he was considering the possibility of renovation." Harriet’s frown deepened, and Selina averted her eyes, lest her courage disintegrate altogether. “Be that as it may, Winthrop, I should like to hold the staff to a minimum until his lordship’s return. To yourself and Rose and a cook ...” Good God; what was “a minimum”? “. . . and one footman,” she concluded.

  “A staff of four?" W'inthrop's shock—nay, horror—was unmistakable. “Very well. Lady Worsham; I shall see to it.”

  He negotiated another bow, albeit a stiff one, and retreated into the corridor; and Selina thought, though she could not be certain, that he was shaking his white head with abject despair.

  “W'ell," Lady Preston said brightly, “now that the question of staff is settled, perhaps you should consider the furniture.” She seated herself on the Adam

  sofa, and Selina fairly collapsed beside her. “Not that there is anything wrong with Alex’s furniture, but, as I am sure you can see for yourself, it is far better suited to a bachelor than to a married couple. If I might tender a suggestion, Selina, I feel that if you redid the drawing room in red—”

  “No!” Selina croaked. Harriet knitted her brows again, and Selina judged that her best course was to state the truth insofar as possible. “I do not wish to spend Alex’s money without his approval,” she muttered.

  “Ah, you do know then.” Harriet nodded. “When you mentioned the renovation of Worfields, I wondered, but I daresay that is another of Alex’s dreams.” She sighed. “But as long as you know, we can be perfectly candid about it.”

  “It,” Selina echoed carefully.

  “Grandmama, that is.”

  “Grandmama!” Selina bobbed her head as if in sudden recollection.

  “Yes. While I do not know the precise customs in America, I fancy they cannot be much different from our own, so you must have been surprised to learn that Alex’s estate is controlled by a woman. However, I am sure he explained the circumstances.”

  “Yes; yes, he did.” Selina’s palms had grown quite soaked, and she very slowly removed her gloves, meanwhile groping for her next words. “Though I must own that some of the details have escaped me. Indeed, I am embarrassed to confess that I no longer recall—ah— Grandmama’s name.”

  “Mrs. Seymour,” Harriet supplied. “Augusta Seymour.”

  “Mrs. Seymour. Of course. And I believe Alex stated that she inherited a great deal of money from her father.”

  “No, Selina, from her husband. From Grandpapa.”

  “Ah, yes.” Selina’s mind was racing, and she calculated that if Lord Worsham’s grandmother was “Mrs. Seymour," her husband had not had a title. Therefore . . . “And, as I remember, Mr. Seymour was engaged in some sort of trade.”

  “I suppose one might term it that,” Lady Preston said dryly. “Grandpapa was a privateer.”

  “A privateer.” Selina essayed a sheepish shake of her head. “I do apologize for my wretched memory, Harriet.” “That is quite all right. I am certain Alex did not elect to devote his few davs of married life to a lengthy recounting of the family history.”

  To Selina’s astonishment, Lady Preston flashed a decidedly provocative smile, and Selina felt the onset of a furious blush. She turned hastily away and began to pick an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of her spencer.

  “Be that as it may,” Harriet went on, “I daresay Alex did tell you that Grandpapa Seymour’s fortune enabled him to marry his only child—our mama—to the eldest son of the Earl of Worsham. He later became the Earl of Worsham, of course; our papa, that is.”

  “Of course," Selina mumbled.

  “However, Alex may not have told you that Papa was—was . . . Well, let me be frank, Selina: Papa was a bit of a rake. I truly believe he was faithful to Mama, but that was the only vice he did not indulge. He went through Mama’s dowry in a matter of months and later dissipated his own fortune almost as rapidly. When Mama and Papa died, there was nothing left.”

  Lady Preston’s phraseology suggested that the senior Worshams had died simultaneously, and Selina wondered how. But she fancied that was something the Earl would have related, something she would have remembered, and she merely nodded.

  “Naturally,” Harriet continued, “Grandmama sees a keen resemblance between Papa and Alex.” Selina’s eyes flew up, and Lady Preston colored. “I do not mean to imply that Alex is a rake," she added quickly; “only that Grandmama thinks he is. And you must not tease yourself about it, for I am sure—now Alex is married—he will mend his ways.”

  Harriet did not seem to perceive anything contradictory in her comments, and Selina nodded again.

  “In any event, as Alex no doubt informed you, Grandmama provides him a reasonable allowance, but

  she has thus far declined to give him any of the principal. Nor is Alex a beneficiary of her will: at this point, her entire fortune is earmarked for various charities.” Lady Preston shook her head, then brightened. “But she has always promised to change her will if Alex settled himself down,
and I daresay now she will. Alex must have believed so, too, since he decided not to marry Isabella after all . . .” Harriet’s voice trailed off, and she turned positively scarlet. “Oh, dear,” she murmured; “oh, dear. I do trust you know about Isabella?”

  “Yes, L—Alex advised me that he was engaged to Miss Bradley.”

  “Well, you must not tease yourself about that either,” Lady Preston said firmly, “for I am certain he intended to wed her only for her money. Isabella’s father was in trade, and he left her an enormous fortune. Alex probably mentioned that she is an orphan.”

  “Yes, he did," Selina lied.

  "And that she lives with her aunt? Isabella’s estate is in Wiltshire, though she and Mrs. Lennox are currently in London for the Season. But you are not to give her another thought, Selina, for I don’t believe Grandmama ever cared for her. No, I am sure Grandmama will much prefer you. Indeed, if I may say so, Simon and I vastly prefer you to Isabella; we could not be more delighted by the marriage.”

  “Thank—thank you,” Selina gulped. Harriet’s dark blue eyes were glowing, and Selina peered guiltily at her shoes, wishing the floor would magically open and swallow her up.

  “Enough!” Lady Preston said briskly. “Since Win- throp appears to have matters well in hand, I daresay we can leave. I hope you will not object if I stop at the milliner’s, Selina, and after that we shall have a bite of lunch. Then we shall tour around London awhile before we go home . . .”

  Selina and Harriet returned briefly to Mount Street Thursday and Friday mornings, and on the latter occasion, Winthrop announced that the house was almost ready.