The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “Isn’t it? Samuel’s friends referred to it as ‘Seymour’s Folly,’ though not in Samuel’s presence, of course. Samuel actually wished to include a moat and drawbridge, but fortunately I talked him round. In any event, I have long since closed all but the center portion, and that is quite adequate.”

  Selina wondered precisely what the “center portion” consisted of, but there was no chance to speculate, for at that moment, the front door swung open, and Mrs. Seymour nodded them up the broad, shallow exterior steps. They were mefat the top by an extremely elderly man whom Selina assumed to be the butler.

  “Mrs. Seymour!” he shouted. “Welcome home, ma’am!”

  “Thank you, Tuttle!” Grandmama was also shouting, and Selina further surmised that the ancient servant was quite hard of hearing. “I daresay you remember my grandsons, Lord Worsham and Master Jeremy. And this is Lady Worsham and her father, Mr. Hewson.”

  “Lady Worsham! Mr. Newman!” Tuttle attempted to sweep a bow, and Selina fancied she could hear his bones creak.

  “Hewson!” Mrs. Seymour shrieked. “We shall put him and Master Jeremy in the guest bedchambers and Lord and Lady Worsham in the family wing. If you will escort Mr. Hewson and Jeremy, Tuttle, I myself shall accompany Alex and Selina.”

  “Yes, ma’am. This way please, Master Jeremy. Mr. Newsome.”

  ' Grandmama sighed, and they all trooped into the entry hall. Tuttle began to lead Papa and Jeremy up a great marble staircase—though, in view of his pace, Selina feared they would never reach the first floor— and Mrs. Seymour, with another sigh, beckoned the Earl and Selina to the left.

  “I have attempted to pension Tuttle off these past

  twenty years," she confided, “but he has been in my employ since the very first day of my marriage, and he refuses to retire. The poor man can scarcely get about, and he does not hear beyond one word in three. Really, children, pray do advise me when I deteriorate to such a state.”

  Since Selina was finding it difficult to keep up with Grandmama’s brisk pace, she doubted any such advice would prove necessary for some time to come. They had traversed one long corridor, and shordy after they turned into a second, Mrs. Seymour threw open a door on the right-hand side of the hall.

  “I have decided to locate you in Augusta’s old room,” she said, gesturing them inside. “Next to my own, it is the largest bedchamber in the house, and I fancy you will be quite comfortable.”

  Selina gazed apprehensively about and observed that Jeremy would have hated the room, for it was decorated in multiple shades of rose and pink. More to the point, it was a bedchamber, and she shot his lordship a penetrating stare.

  “That is very kind of you, Grandmama." Alex coughed. “However, I fancy Selina and I should be more comfortable in adjoining rooms; we grew rather accustomed to that arrangement in Mount Street—”

  “It is an arrangement of which I thoroughly disapprove,” Mrs. Seymour snapped. “I am of the firm opinion that married couples should share the same bed. During two and forty years of wedlock, Samuel and I frequently retired in anger, but we rarely auioke in anger. If you perceive my meaning.”

  Selina did, indeed, perceive Grandmama’s meaning, and, as so often happened, Mrs. Seymour’s frankness set her face aflame with embarrassment. She turned hastily away and pretended to study the intricate design of the Brussels carpet underfoot.

  “At any rate,” Grandmama continued, “only two of the guest bedchambers are presently open, and, as you heard, John and Jeremy are to occupy those. So this room will have to suffice. I shall instruct the postilion to bring your luggage. You will no doubt wish to freshen up at once as dinner will be served in under an hour."

  Mrs. Seymour sailed back into the corridor and closed the door behind her, and Selina whirled furiously on the Earl.

  “You promised!" Her voice was something between a groan and a wail. “You promised we should have separate bedchambers—”

  “I promised I should request separate bedchambers,” his lordship corrected, “and I did so.. You promised to defer to my judgment, and I calculated that Grandmama would have been most incensed had I pursued the discussion. And I daresay we shall be reasonably comfortable, for I note there is a large sofa. At least”—the Earl flashed his mischievous grin—“I presume I shall be sleeping on the sofa.”

  “You certainly will,” Selina said frostily. She studied the room again and glimpsed a slender ray of hope. “Furthermore, it occurs to me that we can nearly make two bedchambers after all. Yes, if we move the chest of drawers in front of the sitting alcove and place the cheval glass beside it, we shall effectively create a wall. It will not absorb sounds, of course, so I should appreciate it if you would refrain from tossing and turning and moaning throughout every night.”

  “Did I disturb you?” Alex sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I shall try to do better, but there is no substitute for a proper bed.”

  “To the contrary," Selina cooed, “I am sure you will learn to Find the couch a splendid substitute. Come now; let us move the furniture.”

  As it happened, the chest and mirror did not provide an adequate wall, and Selina insisted they move the writing table as well. This filled the space horizontally, but one could readily see over the writing table, and the Earl suggested they place a chair atop it. The chair brought the wall to proper height, but it was still possible to peer through the legs, and Selina proposed they flip it upside down, situating the seat upon the surface of the table. This final maneuver served to construct an

  excellent wall indeed, and Selina was positively beaming when the postboy puffed in with her trunk. He deposited it on the rug, examined the exceedingly odd arrangement of furniture and shook his head—evidendy unable to fathom the peculiar tastes of the so-called gentry.

  Chapter 11

  The postilion’s disdain notwithstanding, Selina judged her and Alex’s quarters surprisingly satisfactory. The odd wall they had built allowed them to dress in total privacy, and if the Earl tossed and turned during the night, Selina did not detect it. She was awakened at one point by the scratching of a tree limb against the window, and she discovered that she could hear his lordship’s deep, even breathing issuing from the sitting alcove. But she found the sound strangely pleasant, strangely comforting, and she turned over and fell asleep again at once.

  The following morning, Grandmama announced that she had ordered out the barouche to convey them to Worfields immediately after breakfast.

  “Mr. Farnsworth dropped by earlier to report that the repairs are well under way,” she explained, “but naturally I wish to view the work myself. And you, Selina, must determine your color scheme so Mr. Farnsworth can procure the required paints and fabrics.”

  "I shall determine the color scheme for my room,” Jeremy corrected her grandly, “so I must go to Worfields as well.”

  Papa, who was still sulking a bit, readily agreed to stay behind, and as soon as they had finished their meal, the four of them piled into the carriage. Worfields proved to be but a short distance from Seymour Manor— a quarter-hour's drive, Selina calculated—and her initial impression was a mixed one. The lawn and garden were a veritable jungle of weeds, unpruned bushes,

  flower beds gone wild, but the house itself was another agreeable surprise. Worfields was a plain, rectangular structure, with three stories above the ground in the middle sections, rising to four in the square turrets situated at each corner. Based on Harriet’s grim description, Selina had anticipated crumbling masonry, broken windows, great, gaping holes in the roof; but, externally at least, the building appeared to be quite unmarked by its years of neglect.

  Inside, the picture was not so bright, but Mr. Farnsworth did, in fact, seem to have matters well in hand; he was shouting instructions to some dozen assistants. He scurried forward to greet the arriving party, and after Grandmama had duly presented him to “Lady Worsham,” she insisted that Mr. Farnsworth cease his labors long enough to guide them about the house. They had
proceeded through the dining room, the parlor and the saloon—all of which had been repaired to Mrs. Seymour’s satisfaction—when Jeremy began to shriek at them from the top of the left-wing staircase.

  “Come and see my room!” he demanded. “Please, Alex; please, Selina; please come.”

  “Go along, children,” Grandmama whispered; “Jeremy is terribly excited. When Mr. Farnsworth and I have Finished, you and he can discuss the colors, Selina.”

  Selina nodded, and she and the Earl hurried up the steps. Jeremy was, indeed, excited: at the top of the stairs, he seized their hands and fairly dragged them along the First-floor corridor. Selina had expected his room to be quite remarkable, and when he dropped their hands and eagerly beckoned them through the door, she frowned about in puzzlement. It was a very ordinary bedchamber, not even particularly large, and the furniture—from which Jeremy had stripped the protective coverings—was, at best, serviceable.

  “Don't you see?” Jeremy might have been reading her mind. “It is my room; my very own room; the only one I have ever had.”

  Selina felt a sudden wave of pity. It was easy to dismiss Jeremy as a precocious little monster, easy to forget that he had been orphaned at the age of four.

  For more than half his life, he had been shunted from one residence to another, without a room—much less a home—to call his own.

  “It is yours,” she agreed firmly, “and it will be decorated exactly as you wish. What color do you prefer for the walls?”

  “Brown,” Jeremy responded promptly.

  “Brown.” Selina visualized a floor-to-ceiling sea of mud and narrowly repressed a shudder. "Light brown, you mean,” She suggested quickly; “almond or ecru perhaps. An excellent choice, Jeremy; those are my favorite colors, too. The best thing about them is that they’re very neutral.”

  “What does ‘neutral’ mean?” he asked suspiciously.

  “It means they will go with anything, so when you select new furniture for your bedchamber, you may have any color you like.” Selina realized she was dangling promises for a future in which she would not participate, but she thought the Seymour-Bradley fortune sufficient to finance a few sticks of furniture for a small boy’s bedchamber.

  “Consider it carefully, Jeremy,” his lordship advised. “Decide whether you want—er—almond or—ah—ecru. In the meantime, I shall show Selina our rooms.”

  Jeremy bobbed his head and began inspecting the walls with great, frowning intensity. The Earl propelled Selina back down the hall, and when they were well out of earshot, he grinned down at her.

  “Is there any real difference between ‘almond’ and ‘ecru’?” he inquired.

  “Indeed there is,” Selina replied indignantly. “Almond is darker, browner, and I daresay it will be more to Jeremy’s liking. 1 myself favor ecru for the rest of the house: it is the more neutral of the two, and as I am not actually to live here, I hesitate to impose my personal tastes.”

  “Then you might keep in mind that Isabella is partial to blue.”

  They had reached the stairs, but Alex drew her past them and on along the corridor. Somehow, without her

  awareness, he had taken her hand, and Selina now

  snatched it away.

  “Blue?” she echoed sharply. “Miss Bradley?”

  “I believe you recently pointed out that she is likely to live here.”

  “So I did,” Selina snapped.

  “Before then, however, we shall occupy the master suite.” His lordship stopped, opened a door, nudged Selina in ahead of him. “I am sure you will be pleased to observe that it consists of three separate chambers. This is the sitting room.”

  The Earl carelessly waved one hand, and Selina noticed that his tan was starting to fade. He was far from drawing-room pale, but the lighter tone of his skin—in conjunction with his new clothes—rendered him an almost proper English lord. Though Selina could not have said exactly why, she fancied she preferred the ragged adventurer she had met in Richmond; perhaps Alex’s sudden respectability served to emphasize the yawning chasm between them.

  “My bedchamber is there,” his lordship continued, gesturing to the right, “and yours is there.” He tossed his head to the left. “Do you wish to see them?”

  “Not—not just now. I shall no doubt have to review them with Mr. Farnsworth, and I daresay he is waiting for me.”

  “Permit me to assure you that he is not waiting: Grandmama pays him by the hour, and she will tolerate no unnecessary delay. No, I suspect Grandmama is fairly torturing Mr. Farnsworth with questions, and she will summon you when her repertoire is exhausted. Until she does, let us sit down.”

  The Earl stepped forward and plucked the covering from a worn Adam sofa, and Selina trailed after him and perched rather nervously on the edge. Their present circumstances were far less compromising than their shocking, shared bedchambers, but Selina—though, again, she could not explain why—sensed a certain unsettling intimacy in Alex’s demeanor.

  “I—I daresay you have many happy memories of Worfields," she said, as his lordship sat beside her.

  “In point of fact, I do not,” he responded. "Jeremy’s remarks set me to considering my own childhood, and it occurred to me that I retain practically no memories of Papa and Mama.” He hesitated, then sighed. “Harriet terms Papa a rake, but I judge that description a trifle unfair. I think Papa was a perennial child himself, forever seeking a grand new adventure. In any event, he traveled incessantly, and, because Mama adored him, she followed wherever he led. As a result, they were seldom here, and Harriet and I were brought up largely by servants. Different servants, I might add: Papa was inclined to spend their wages on his various amusements, and, as I recollect, the staff turned completely over every year or so.”

  Selina experienced another flood of sympathy. Her own youth had been peculiar in the extreme, but Papa had always been there, and she had never for a moment doubted his love.

  “It initially appeared that Jeremy would fare somewhat better,” the Earl went on. “Mama was two and forty when he was born, and I do not believe she ever quite recovered. At any rate, she stayed close to home over the ensuing years; indeed, ironically enough, the trip to Ireland was the first she and Papa had embarked upon alone since Jeremy’s birth. They never returned, of course, and Jeremy was rendered literally an orphan.”

  “I am sure you and Harriet have compensated as best you could,” Selina murmured.

  “I am not sure of that at all. Perhaps our behavior can be excused: we were scarcely more than children ourselves, and we were preoccupied with our own activities. But the fact remains that Jeremy has been compelled to live at our convenience, and I did not realize until today how deeply he may have been wounded.”

  “Which is ironic in a further respect,” Selina pointed out. “Had you settled yourself down and provided a proper home for Jeremy, Grandmama might well have been persuaded to revise her will long before now.”

  “I think not.” Alex shook his blond head. “At one

  juncture, I pondered that possibility, and I concluded that Papa’s conduct had prejudiced Grand mama permanently against me. Which is not to say that I bear her any grudge; I well understand her concern. But I suspect that nothing I could have done would have altered Grandmama’s opinion; she would always have conceived some other test and—when I passed that—still another.”

  “So you elected to take matters into your own hands and wed a wealthy woman."

  Selina had not intended to say it, and she belatedly bit her lip, but his lordship appeared quite unruffled.

  “I should not be the First man to do so,” he rejoined.

  “No, you will not,” Selina mumbled.

  “But let us return to the beginning,” the Earl proposed. “While I do not entertain happy memories of Worfields,

  I daresay it could be a happy home. What do you think, Selina? Would you be happy living here?"

  “You are asking if I think Miss Bradley will be happy.”

  “
You have an annoying tendency to reinterpret my every word," Alex snapped.

  “I should not have supposed any reinterpretation was required,” Selina snapped back. “After I am—am dead, you plan to marry Miss Bradley and install her at Worfields, do you not?”

  “Do I have an option?”

  It was clearly a rhetorical question, and as Selina looked stonily away, Mrs. Seymour materialized in the

  doorway.

  “Ah, here you are,” she trilled. She gazed about and emitted a disapproving sniff. “I had forgotten the arrangement of the master suite; I do hope you will choose to occupy the same bedchamber. Augusta and Percy did so, and—despite their many difficulties—they did have an exceedingly happy marriage. But in any case, Mr. Farnsworth is prepared to speak with you, Selina, and since I am paying him by the hour, there is no time to waste.”

  Alex’s mouth began to twitch, and, lest his sardonic merriment infect her, Selina leaped up and hurried into the corridor. At the head of the staircase, she

  realized that she had not ascertained just where she was to meet the builder, and she was peering rather frantically around when Mr. Farnsworth emerged from Jeremy’s room and strode toward her.

  “I have been conferring with young Mr. Cochran,” he said, as he reached her side. “He advises me that his bedchamber is to be either ‘nut-colored’ or ‘ship- colored.’ ”

  “ ‘Nut-colored’ is obviously almond,” Selina translated, “and ‘ship-colored’ must be ecru. Yes, he evidendy thought I said ‘crew,’ as in the crew of a ship.”

  “Umm." Apparently Mr. Farnsworth was not burdened with an excessive sense of humor: he extracted a grimy sheet of paper and the merest stub of a pencil from the pocket of his frock coat and jotted down a note. “As for the rest of the house, Lady Worsham, I fancy we shall have to go through it room by room.” His tone was unmistakably gloomy.