The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “We are sailing on the Devon,” he explained, “and she is to weigh anchor at dawn.”

  Dawn, Selina thought. At this hour tomorrow, they would be far out in the Atlantic.

  “Traveling to America, are you, sir? Well, I assure you you will not miss your ship; I shall have you awakened at four.”

  Mr. Plummer bowed away, and Papa entered his chamber and closed the door. Selina closed her door as well, turned around, took one step forward and prompdy stumbled into the bed. She instinctively attempted to retreat, but the doorknob jammed at once into her back, and she massaged her injured knee and looked about in utter dismay. She had never beheld a smaller room, and, upon reflection, she doubted there could be one smaller. On three sides, the bed extended to within a foot of the wall, just enough space for a human body

  to squeeze by. A slender human body; either of the Plummers would become quite wedged between the bed and the wall. There were a wardrobe and wash- stand on the fourth side, but they were scarcely more than a foot from the bed. Selina observed that the wardrobe doors had been removed—an obvious necessity since it would have been altogether impossible to open them. Her eyes returned to the bed, upon which his lordship was already reclining, a pillow propped behind his neck.

  “It won’t do,” she said. “It won’t do at all.”

  “But the bed is quite comfortable,” he protested. “The mattress is really very firm.” He bounced about a bit in confirmation.

  “The mattress may be ‘very firm,’ but apparently you have not considered where you are to sleep.”

  “7 intend to sleep in the bed, so perhaps you should consider where you are to sleep. I daresay that if we moved the luggage into the hall, you could lay your head just next to the wardrobe and put your feet under the bed—”

  “You are being ridiculous, Alex.”

  “7 am being ridiculous? I fancy there is not another room within five and twenty miles of Plymouth, and there is certainly not another at the Merman. You could, of course, inspect Grandmama and Isabella’s chamber; perhaps they would take you in.”

  “No!” Selina screeched. She could not subject herself to that final humiliation, could not bear the triumphant sparkle in Miss Bradley’s great blue eyes. “No, I shall stay here, and we shall sleep in our clothes.”

  “You may sleep in your clothes if you wish, but mine stink of fish. So, if you will excuse me .. .”

  He rose, and Selina swiftly turned her back and gazed at the wall. He bustled about in characteristically noisy fashion, and as she listened, she realized that her clothes smelled of fish as well. She had placed her nightdress, dressing gown and one walking ensemble at the top of her valise, and she decided she should also change. Try as he might, the Earl could see nothing through her nightclothes.

  “I am ready,” he announced at last.

  Selina looked cautiously around, but Alex had drawn the bed linens up to his waist, and nothing was visible through his nightshirt either.

  “Very well,” she said stiffly. “If you would now be so kind as to avert your eyes ...”

  He obligingly turned over and buried his face in the pillow, and Selina began to undress. It was no easy task: her elbows continually scraped the doorless wardrobe, and each time she tried to back away, her legs met the bed. But eventually she, too, was ready, and she stared down at his lordship’s recumbent form.

  “I wish you to move to the far side of the bed,” she said. “As far as you can.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Selina—”

  “Move!” she hissed. “You can’t conceivably fall out.”

  He wriggled to the very edge of the bed, and Selina draped her dressing gown over the bedpost, blew out the candle on the washstand and eased herself onto the opposite edge. The mattress was astonishingly comfortable, but the bed was far too narrow to suit her: though she and the Earl were not touching, she was keenly aware of the nearby heat of his body. She was afraid to fall asleep while he was yet awake, and she lay, stiff and motionless, waiting for the sound of his deep, even breathing. But it did not come, and she eventually sensed that he was waiting, too. Was he attempting to formulate some son of appropriate farewell? How did one say farewell to a man one would love forever but would never see again? Selina began to wring her hands, and as she did so, she felt Mrs. Seymour’s great diamond ring on her finger.

  “Alex?” She had intended to whisper, but her voice more nearly resembled a croak. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have just remembered Grandmama’s ring. Do not let me forget to give it to you tomorrow; I shall be wearing gloves, and she will not notice it is missing. Then you must not forget to return it to her at the—the proper time. The manner of my death must be such

  that the ring would be preserved; do not bum me to ashes in an Indian raid or drown me at sea.”

  “I shall return the ring to Grandmama if that is your choice.”

  “My choice?” Selina echoed. “I certainly shan’t keep it; compensation was never a part of our agreement.”

  “I am not suggesting you keep the ring as ‘compensation’; I am suggesting you keep it for what it is. A wedding ring. You may recollect that I did ask you to marry me. And that you, or so you said, were prepared to accept my offer.”

  “And you may recollect that you declined my acceptance,” Selina rejoined warmly. “That you refused to—to share me with Matthew.”

  “Ah, Selina.”

  He moved to her side of the bed and propped his chin in the heel of one hand and gazed down at her. The curtains at the tiny window were scarcely more than tatters, and in the moonlight streaming through, Selina could clearly see his face. Could see that his eyes were dark and gentle.

  “I know you lied about your engagement to Sir Matthew,” he said, “and I further know why you lied. But I’ve yet to puzzle out why you didn't tell me the truth the moment he appeared.”

  “The moment he appeared! He had hardly appeared when you disappeared; you flounced out of the parlor in exceedingly high dudgeon indeed. I was planning to tell you that night . . She belatedly registered the import of his remarks and felt her own eyes narrow with suspicion. “How is it you suddenly know the truth without my having told you?” she demanded.

  “Your father explained the situation to my entire satisfaction.”

  “Papa? You took the word of Black Jack Hewson, the greatest scoundrel on two continents?”

  “You needn’t be sardonic, Selina.” It was not a reprimand; his voice was very soft, and he lightly stroked her cheek. “I took the word of your magnificent scoundrel of a father because there were tears in his eyes when he spoke, and I daresay there were a few in mine

  as well before he finished. And it still wounds me to realize that you didn’t trust me sufficiently to come to

  me yourself.”

  “I was planning to,” she repeated. “I followed you to the garden with the express intention of revealing the truth, and I found you—found you . . .” She could not think of a suitable verb. “I found you with Miss Bradley.”

  “Yes.” His lordship sighed. “Yes, that was a most unfortunate circumstance. Apparendy Isabella also followed me to the garden—”

  “It was more than a ‘circumstance,’ Alex,” Selina interposed. “Maybe she did follow you to the garden, but after that, you spent the night with her.”

  “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

  It was a rhetorical question, and Selina tried to look away, but his long fingers abrupdy tightened round her face, riveting her eyes to his.

  “You don’t trust me, and I can only say now, as I said then, that I did not spend the night with Isabella. Not in the sense you mean.” His hand left her face and waved vaguely over the bed. “For whatever the information may be worth, I should like to add that I have nex'er slept with Isabella. And I never shall.”

  He lay back on the bed, crossed his arms behind his head, stared at the ceiling. “Our acquaintance has been one bumblebath upon
another, hasn’t it, Selina? I do not hold myself entirely responsible, but at this juncture, I perceive no advantage in sorting out the blame. Whether fairly or not, you may well continue to mistrust me; you may decide to return to America after all. I sincerely hope you will not, for I—I . .

  He stopped, and in the silence, Selina could hear the muted noises of the harbor.

  “You asked where Jeremy and I would go,” the Earl continued at last. “I didn’t answer because, frankly, I’ve no idea; I can scarcely bear to contemplate a life without you. On the day after the ball, I briefly hoped you were going to announce a change of heart, but you began chattering like a gypsy instead. Threatening to haunt me, which, indeed, you would. However, if you do leave, I shall survive, and one day I may even marry. But I shall not wed Isabella: you have quite spoiled me for a union of pure convenience.” He raised up, propped his chin in his hand again and ventured a smile, but his mouth was decidedly unsteady round the edges. “You could spare me a great deal of trouble if you would simply agree to overlook our past differences and marry me without delay.”

  It could be his last, cleverest ploy, but Selina had recognized long since that he could not prove his affection. If she accepted him, she must do so on trust alone, and she wanted to accept him most desperately. She attempted to say so, but her throat was altogether clogged with happiness, and she lifted her arms and twined them about his neck.

  “Does this mean we are officially engaged?”

  He managed a grin, but his voice was hoarse, and Selina, for her part, could only nod. His lips brushed i hers—a proper betrothal kiss—but it was not enough, not enough for either of them. Alex fell back into the bed again and drew her into his arms, and his mouth grew urgent, hungry. Selina moaned and strained against him, found her fingers in the soft mat of hair below the open neck of his nightshirt and realized that his own , fingers had crept beneath her gown to caress her bare flesh. He moved his lips to her eyelids, her ears, and she twisted away.

  “No!” she gasped.

  But only her mouth was talking; her body possessed a will of its own. Alex shook his head—white-blond in the moonlight—and impatiently stripped off his nightshirt, then carefully removed her gown. They were together, nothing between them, and she gave herself up to his lips and his hands and, in the end, his total possession. And when it was over, she lay trembling in his arms, wondering how she could ever have thought to live without him.

  “I love you, Alex,” she murmured.

  “I believe that, too.”

  He pulled the tangled bedclothes over them both, gathered her closer and buried his face in her hair. Selina tried to forget the one, small, infinitely important thing he had failed to say; she snuggled against him and determinedly closed her eyes.

  Chapter 17

  When Mr. Plummer knocked at the door, Selina was afraid to wake, afraid to discover that the night had been a dream and she must rise and sail on the Devon after all. But she soon felt a lean, warm body next to hers, and when she opened her eyes, she met Alex’s, sparkling bright as stars in the darkness.

  “I trust you found your first lesson satisfactory?” he whispered.

  “Most satisfactory indeed.”

  “Excellent.”

  He kissed her, lightly at first, then with increasing enthusiasm; and Selina sighed with regret when the knocking grew more insistent and the Earl raised his head.

  “We are awake, Mr. Plummer,” he called. “Thank you very kindly. Very kindly,” he added softly, “for I fancy we’ve time for a second lesson before we dress for breakfast.”

  He took her mouth again, and there was another great crash of fists upon the door.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  Alex rolled to his side of the bed, snatched his dressing gown off the floor, rose and, with considerable difficulty, succeeded in putting it on. Selina got out the opposite side, lit the candle and struggled into her dressing gown as well. She repeatedly scraped her elbows on the wardrobe and slammed her shin once into the washstand, but at last she was reasonably decent. She and his lordship slithered simultaneously to the

  foot of the bed and met at the door, which Alex threw

  irritably open.

  “I advised you that we were awake, Mr. Plummer—"

  “Do you see?” Miss Bradley said triumphandy. “I believe you will agree, Mrs. Seymour, that they shared the bed.”

  This must be the dream, Selina thought desperately; Grandmama and Miss Bradley could not possibly be standing in the corridor, {jeering over her and the Earl’s shoulders. Peering at a bed in utter, disastrous disarray . . .

  “I do see," Mrs. Seymour snapped. Not a dream. “What I fail to see is why you should roust me from sleep at half past three in the morning to confirm the fact that my grandson and his wife have occupied the same bed. I have always subscribed to a theory that marriages would be far happier if couples shared the same bed every night. I do not approve of separate bedchambers—”

  “But they are not married,” Miss Bradley hissed. “Are you, Alex? Are you, Lady Worsham? Forgive me:

  Miss Hewson."

  “Not—married?” Grandmama echoed weakly. “That is an extremely grave allegation, Isabella.”

  Selina heard the creak of a rusty hinge, and, to her inexpressible horror, Papa and Jeremy and Matthew looked cautiously into the hall. Finding nothing more hazardous than a conclave of their own party, they ventured across, and Selina tugged his lordship over the threshold and hastily slammed the door behind them.

  “Alex and Miss Hewson are not married,” Miss Bradley repeated, “and Sir Matthew can confirm it. Can you not, Matthew?”

  “Not married? Confirm?”

  Selina surmised that the erstwhile baronet had left his bed within the minute, for his white hair was literally , standing on end. and he was frowning with puzzlement, j

  “Yes, confirm it,” Miss Bradley prodded impatiently. | “You told me that to your certain knowledge they were : not married in Virginia.”

  “That is true." Matthew bobbed his head. "However, <

  I believe I explained that Selina explained that there was a perfectly good reason for their deception. They wished to avoid any hint of the scandal which invariably accompanies a hasty wedding . . He stopped, apparently realizing that a scandal of almost unimaginable proportions was brewing before his very eyes.

  “They were not married in America.” Miss Bradley turned dramatically back to Grandmama. “So I astt you, Mrs. Seymour, when were they wed? Not before your introduction to ‘Ladv Worsham’: Alex had been in London under four and twenty hours, and he spent most of that time with me. And if they lied then . . .” Her voice trailed provocatively off. “I do pray I am wrong, of course”—she heaved a great sigh—“and if I am, they can prove me so at once. They need only display a marriage certificate, which, in view of their very brief union, they should have readily at hand.” “Well?” Grandmama's violet eyes darted between the accused. “Do you have such a certificate?”

  “No, we do not,” the Earl said levelly.

  “Isabella is correct then.” Mrs. Seymour fanned herself with one slender, blue-veined hand. “You are not married.”

  “We are not married,” his lordship confirmed. “But—” “Not married, yet from what I observed, you—you . . .” Grandmama stole a glance at their chamber door, but evidently even she could not bring herself to state the awful, unvarnished truth. “You have irreparably compromised Selina,” she concluded sorrowfully.

  “I fear so.” Alex emitted a sigh of his own.

  “In that event”—Mrs. Seymour drew herself up to her full five feet—“you have but one honorable recourse: you must wed Selina immediately. Samuel had many friends in Plymouth, and I daresay you can obtain a special license before the day is over.”

  “Wed?” Miss Bradley wailed. “Special license? But I assumed—”

  “What did you assume, Isabella?” Grandmama whirled around, her tiny hands now clenched at her sides. �
�Did you suppose I should conclude that Selina somehow seduced Alexander? Did you expect me to pack

  her back to America and deliver you my grandson’s head on a silver platter?”

  It was clear that this was precisely what Miss Bradley had assumed, but she haughtily drew' herself up to her five feet. “Indeed not,” she said stiffly. "However, I do feel you are making a dreadful error. The facts will inevitably emerge—”

  “The facts will only ‘emerge’ if you blab them about,” Mrs. Seymour interposed. "And should that occur, I shall have a few facts of my own to relate. I fancy all Wiltshire—all England—would be fascinated to learn that you and Sir Matthew were compelled to share a room at a very crowded inn in Plymouth.”

  ' “But we did not!” Miss Bradley screeched. “Matthew will attest that we did not—”

  “Sir Matthew will be in Virginia,” Grandmama reminded her. “And Alex and Selina and John and Jeremy suffer from such wretched lapses of memory that I fear they will be quite unable to recollect just what the arrangements actually were.”

  "Blit—but . . .”

  “Do not lower yourself to their abysmal level, Isabella.” Matthew squared his narrow shoulders, and in view of his unruly hair, he resembled nothing so much as a white- combed rooster. “Their behavior is disgustingly inexcusable; in fact, it is inexcusably disgusting." Would he always repeat himself? Selina wondered. “Their inexcusable, disgusting conduct has prompted me to remember why I left England so many years ago: I cannot bear the company of hypocrites. And though we have been acquainted but briefly, Isabella, I judge you a woman of delicate sensibilities similar to my own. If I may be so bold as to lender a suggestion, I collect that John booked three places on the Dei>